


One of Us

by thegirloverseas



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fill-in-the-Blank, Palawan (La casa de papel), serquel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:54:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22975093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirloverseas/pseuds/thegirloverseas
Summary: Tokyo reunites with the Professor after Rio has been abducted, but once she joins him in Palawan, things are not how she thought they would be. In Palawan, she encounters a familiar face, Raquel Murillo, who has built a life with the Professor. Naturally, Tokyo is furious. How can she ever accept that woman?
Relationships: Raquel Murillo/Professor | Sergio Marquina
Comments: 170
Kudos: 325





	1. Anger

**Author's Note:**

> In general, but for this story especially, I have to thank my dear, wonderful friend Evendale, who keeps telling me that my stories are good. She has been a tremendous help in shaping this story into my first ever multi-chapter endeavor, offering encouragement and guidance numerous times and providing both big and small suggestions whenever I got stuck. Thank you so so much! ❤
> 
> I also want to thank Corny_Cornflakes who graciously offered her time to discuss this chapter with me and who offered to share her insights into Tokyo's psyche with me.
> 
> Gracias! ❤

The second I see her on that beach, all my alarms go off. What the _fuck_ is she doing here? She just stands there, watching me, almost scornfully, and my mind goes into overdrive and the only solution is attack. I launch my feet into the ground determinedly, the traction of my feet in the sand propelling me forward, and I see her mirroring my movements, her eyebrows raised in defiance. With every step forward, my annoyance rises.

I can feel the ire bubbling beneath the surface, my anger boiling in my chest and, finally, all my irritation verbalizes. “What’s this bitch doing here?”

The Professor barely makes it in time to get between us before I can get my hands on her, and his appeasement rings in my ears, _calm down_ – but how can I? _She is one of us now._ The insinuation makes the hair on my neck stand up. Never. Never will she and I be the same. Not in a million years.

“I changed sides,” she declares, spitting the words in my face, but I don’t believe a fucking word.

I let her know exactly how I feel about her as I spew more insults in her direction. She is, and she always will be, a traitor. Of that I am certain.

“Tokyo.”

I let her know what she is to me, _the lowest of the low, scum,_ but she doesn’t react to my insults except to defiantly raise her head higher, which only infuriates me more.

The Professor, however, is ever so eager to get between us and defend her.

“Tokyo!”

I turn to the Professor, trying to reason with him. “They can change sides once, twice, a hundred million times.” How can he be so blind?

“Tokyo, please!”

And then it dawns on me… She really must have done a number on him.

“She’ll turn against you!” I implore him, every word turning into a projectile aimed at the spell he seems to be under. Yet he shows no sign of indecision, his stance is unwavering. I try again, urgency and desperation creeping into my voice.

“That’s not going to happen,” he says, and his determination sends a rush of hot anger through me. _Not going to happen_? For all his brilliance, it’s astounding how dense someone can be.

“Oh no? How do you know, tell me?” I prompt him.

“I know,” he states and there is not a shred of doubt in his voice. “I’m absolutely sure.”

“You’re sure? Down in your pants?”

I feel, rather than see her hand land on my face, leaving a crisp, burning sensation on my cheek.

“If the Professor tells you I’m one of you, then I’m one of you” she explains curtly. “Is that clear?”

“Nice smack you delivered,” I quip. “We’re not going to get along like that, Inspectora.”

She boldly takes another step towards me, her gaze drilling into mine. “My name is Lisbon.”

 _Lisbon_. Cute. Laughing, I direct a disbelieving look at the Professor who seems flustered by our exchange. I can see that this is going to be a _lot_ of fun.

* * *

Recounting what led to Rio’s capture is painful. I can see my handwriting all over it, but there is also another thing wanting to rise like a wounded beast from the ashes of my failures: Hope.

“Professor, are you absolutely sure Rio has been caught?”

“He’d have rung his handler like you, don’t you think?”

“But nothing’s been published,” I argue, but the Professor doesn’t reply, so I search the Inspectora’s face for an answer. There is a flicker in her eyes and the next moment, hers and the Professor’s eyes share a knowing look.

“It’s the best news the government can announce,” I explain. “Why would they keep it secret? It’s a bombshell!”

Was there something I wasn’t getting?

Unless… _unless_ … I don’t dare to say it and the Professor makes no move to confirm or deny the suspicions that have suddenly, uncomfortably settled in my chest.

A look, almost pitiful, from the Inspectora meets mine, and I know.

“How long can they keep him incommunicado?” The answer shatters every ounce of hope remaining in me. _Seventy-two hours._

In my head, one thought keeps racing the next, endless possibilities of Rio hurting because of me. Because of my mistake. “They’re not torturing him, are they?”

A long while ago, the Professor promised never to lie to me. _I don’t know, Tokyo. I don’t know._ I suppose this is his way of keeping his promise. It is also the kinder answer; it leaves the possibility of Rio residing somewhere nice, unharmed… but his answer also leaves me with a gut-wrenching feeling that he isn’t and an uncertainty that eats me up inside out.

“Of course they are torturing him,” _her_ voice suddenly sounds as though it is the most natural thing that Rio should be tortured, locked up somewhere, and hurting. Yet, for the first time, I appreciate her presence. I appreciate her frankness, and I am glad that she takes no precautions to spare my feelings. I know I need to know what is happening to Rio, and she knows that, too.

“In any democratic country there is a backyard for playing dirty in case things turn nasty,” she explains. “And we’ve made things very nasty for them. Well, _you_ did.”

How fucking convenient for her that she is able to exclude herself just like that.

But then, once again, I suddenly feel a wild panic rise in my chest and my anger evaporates.

Turning to the Professor, I say, “They can’t torture him. It’s the 21st century.” With every fiber of my being, I want it to be a lie. But he is right, _sure they can_. I can feel my eyes getting moist. Suddenly, everything is a blur, I can’t think, can’t concentrate on anything except: Rio. We have to save him.

“Professor,” I manage to say, getting up, “We need to get Rio out.” I reach for his head to force him to listen to me. “Are you listening? We need to rescue Rio.”

“Did you buy any more phones?” he asks instead.

“Yes, Helsinki,” I reply.

“We have to gather everyone,” he says tonelessly before leaving the room without another word.

Desperately, I run after him, catching up with him just outside. “Professor! Professor! Tell me you’re going to save Rio.”

“How, Tokyo?”

I don’t know either. _We know nothing._

* * *

Eleven days. It’s been eleven days since Rio was arrested. Eleven days I spent in agony over my part in his arrest. I should have known, I should have told him not to use the phones – the Professor had been clear about that – I should have… but it is no use. What has happened, happened. 

I lie awake that night, too. But in addition to Rio being tortured, there is now another thing that irks me: The Professor’s liaison with the Inspectora. I resent everything about it.

I don’t trust her, and nothing can convince me otherwise.

She’s part of the same breed of people who killed the love of my life, who killed Moscow, who nearly killed Rio and who are now torturing him. Her kind doesn’t change. They don’t show mercy, they suffocate.

What the Professor sees in her, I don’t know. Clearly, he is under her influence, and she is skillfully manipulating him. The Professor doesn’t strike me as a person who would risk sacrificing everything just like that. There is no other explanation.

* * *

I finally give up on sleep and tiptoe out of the guest room. A ray of light shining from the study catches my attention.

I halt, and walk over to the door, knocking softly.

A moment later, the Professor opens the door, clad in one of his signature pajamas. I’m glad to see that at least that hasn’t fallen victim to that woman.

“Tokyo.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“I see that.”

An awkward silence follows and neither of us moves.

“Can I come in?” I ask, looking at him expectantly.

“Sure, of course,” he mutters and moves out of the way, extending his arm into the room as an invitation.

Papers and books cover nearly every surface.

“My god, what happened here?” I ask him, taking in the disorganized heaps of paper stacks around us.

“I’m working on a few things,” he says apologetically.

“I can see that. That’s a _lot_ of paper.”

He grimaces.

My eyes travel the room, lingering here and there, finally getting stuck on a picture of the Professor and Raquel on the wall, and I immediately feel uncomfortable. Watched.

He seems to have noticed me staring at the picture because when I turn to look at him, his gaze is transfixed on the very same picture on the wall before he turns to me.

“Tokyo…”

My name is more of an exasperated sigh on his lips than a real word.

“How can you trust her?”

“I do. I trust her with my life,” he states, and before I can say anything else, he adds, “and if you can’t trust her, then trust me.”

“How can you ask that of me? After she had Moscow killed, after she–“

“She didn’t,” he interrupts me. “She didn’t kill Moscow. She was with me when he was shot.”

My eyes widen.

“This has been going on for _that_ long?” I breathe.

He raises his arms in a half-shrug. “Look, Tokyo, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Tell me she’s not manipulating you. Tell me she is not just fucking you and gaining your trust so she can screw us all over.”

“I know she isn’t,” he says with the same unwavering certainty that was evident earlier that day at the beach.

“How? Tell me, Professor, _please_.”

“Because I screwed her over first,” he admits. “And she came back to me.”

“So you don’t think she’ll use the first chance she gets to take revenge?”

“No.”

I can feel tears of desperation burning in my eyes now. “Why not? Please don’t give me that bullshit about how you just _know_ she won’t screw you over – screw us all over – you’re better than that!”

“Tokyo, she’s known about your locations for over a year.”

“Then she was the one who ratted Rio out!” My anger flares up again, adding to the weariness I feel, a deep-seated anguish because of his inability to see what is so clear to me, that he has invited the enemy into our midst, and that she is pulling the strings behind his back.

“Think about it, Tokyo, if that was the case, why only capture Rio? Hm? Why stop there? Rio is the _only_ one who got arrested – because of the satellite phones, not because of Raquel.”

I suppose there was some truth to that. Unless, of course, she was going to have us all arrested here, six in one single blow.

He sighs. “You’re tired. You should get some sleep.”

I say nothing. I can only nod, half turning to the door.

“And, Tokyo, please, for my sake, you can't treat Raquel like that. You don't have to like each other, but I can't have any disruptions like that while we rescue Rio.”

The last half of his sentence makes me stop in my tracks and turn back to look at him, relief flooding through my body. “You’re going to rescue him?”

“Of course,” he answers, gesturing at all of the notes surrounding him. “Raquel and I talked this through, and we have some ideas.”

 _Raquel and I._ She’s helping him with this? What game is she playing?

“And now go to bed, Tokyo. We’ll talk in the morning.”

I signal him yes and leave his study, but I don’t return to the guestroom. Instead, I turn to the patio and step outside, wandering aimlessly in the general direction of the ocean, the mild night breeze embracing me. I feel helpless and suddenly exhausted beyond words. Eventually, I notice a hammock to my right and climb into it, closing my eyes as my head comes to rest on the fabric, and, finally, _finally_ the sound of the waves and the soft winds swaying the hammock carry me into dreamland and back into Rio’s arms.


	2. Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For her help with this chapter, and for so many other things, I have to thank the wonderful Evendale. I feel truly blessed to have her in my life. ♥ Thank you, thank you, thank you!
> 
> I also wanna thank Corny_Cornflakes for helping me several times when I was lost. Thank you for brainstorming with me and for your advice. ♥
> 
> On another note, I hope you're all safe, and I hope this new chapter brightens your day a little bit. :)

I wake to the sound of the ocean, and for a second, I am sure I can hear Rio laughing in the distance. But when I open my eyes fully, he is gone and only the beach stretches endlessly in front of me. I sit up in the hammock.

The morning light has bathed everything in a soft pinkish light, a peaceful image. A momentary distraction. Because for a second I forget what has brought me to this place. It seems absurd that in a world with such beauty, such evil can exist.

Once more, I hear laughter, but it is more of a giggle this time, and as I turn my head, I can see a small figure running in the general direction of the house. I get out of the hammock, planting my feet in the sand, and move to follow the child to the house, but once it comes fully into view, she is gone, vanished from my sight. The house is still mostly quiet, though. I only hear faint noises once I enter the living room and move towards the kitchen. Once I am close enough to hear them properly, I stop.

It’s the Professor and that woman. _Lisbon._

The Inspectora’s laughter rings clear out of the kitchen and for a moment I find myself envying her and I feel a pang of annoyance. She gets to be happy while Rio is tied up somewhere. If it was up to me, the roles would be reversed.

And yet… there is something distinctly odd about hearing her laugh and a split second later, I realize that I’ve never heard or seen her laugh before.

“I bet it was!” she comments, apparently in reference to the thing that made her laugh.

“I mean, you should have seen it, it was magnificent! She was so excited! It’s a shame we won’t be here when they hatch.”

“Are we really going to do this?” she says in a more somber tone. “There are a lot of risks involved.”

“It’s the only way. We have to get them where it hurts.”

I hear her sigh.

“Yeah, I know. I just wish there was another way.”

“You can still decide to stay here.”

When she answers, her tone sounds mildly threatening, but there is just a hint of laughter in her voice, “Sergio, you’re very sweet to want to keep me safe, but if you suggest one more time that I stay behind while you-”

“Okay, okay,” he hastens to say, a smile in his voice. “I get it. You’re coming!”

“I overheard you talking last night, you and Tokyo.”

“I’m sorry, did we wake you?”

“Uh-uh, I hadn’t gone to sleep yet, I was still reading.”

 _Reading_ , huh? Sure she was. She had probably been spying on us.

“Tokyo doesn’t like me.”

“No,” he states, “no, that she doesn’t.”

“Sergio, she needs to follow my orders once we go in. Will she be able to do that?”

Her orders? Like hell I was.

“Tokyo has as much of an interest in the success of this operation as the both of us.”

 _As the both of us_? I can imagine why the Professor wants to go through with this, but what does _she_ stand to gain?

“That doesn’t mean she will do as I say.”

“Tokyo may be a little difficult, but she is not dumb.”

His comment stings a little.

“So? What if she thinks she knows better?”

“Look, Raquel, I can’t tell you what Tokyo is going to do. Tokyo is…”

“Tokyo is Tokyo,” she snorts and I hear him sigh.

What is that supposed to mean?

“Just give her some time.”

“Fine, I will.”

I hear them kiss and I roll my eyes. _Of course._ I bet she has him wrapped around her little finger

My annoyance peaks and I am very tempted to – accidentally – interrupt them, but I remain in front of the ajar door, listening attentively. But my patience is not rewarded. I hear footsteps retreating and the kitchen turns quiet, save for a few repetitive sounds, metal against wood.

I take a peek and see someone working at the kitchen island. I suppress a groan. Why _her_?

She glances up only briefly as I enter the kitchen. After that, she is back to cutting some fruit for breakfast, silence greeting me. It is admirable, really, how she makes no effort to win me over, barely even acknowledging my presence. Almost as if she is trying _not_ to win me over, as if this is a silent punishment for yesterday’s conversation.

I can’t stand the silence, though. Things still feel… raw, unfinished. I suppose that, for her, that was it. She had said her piece and I’d have to deal with that. It doesn’t change my mind for one second, but I find myself almost respecting her resolve.

I remember the Professor’s words from last night. _If you can’t trust her, then trust me._ In an ideal world, I might have done just that. I could have just trusted his word and moved on… but I have my pride, especially after our interaction yesterday, and I can’t get myself to do that.

 _I changed sides._ Perhaps she had. For now. I suppose I should thank her for her contribution to the plan to save Rio. And yet…

Making amends has never been my strongest suit. And as much as I would like to return her silence, it irks me. So all that’s left is the charge ahead.

I turn to face her.

“How did you do it?” I ask bluntly.

“Do what exactly?” she asks back, unimpressed with my tone, never looking up from the cutting board.

“You know…” I begin, “… screwing with the Professor?” Double entendre intended I circle the kitchen table slowly, deliberately, trailing a lazy finger across the back of a chair, awaiting her response.

For a moment, she stops cutting, the knife suspended in the air, and she looks me dead in the face.

“We fell in love,” she says matter-of-factly.

Yes, I had expected that answer. I let my mouth curve into a fake smile.

“Sure, of course,” I reply, rounding the end of the table, approaching the kitchen island.

“Look, Tokyo, let me be crystal clear. I have exactly zero things to prove to you.”

“Is he good in bed?” I press, ignoring her. There is an interruption in her movement, her expression suddenly changing into something softer, something relaxed.

Is it just my imagination or is she– FUCK, she is blushing! A hint of red creeps into her cheeks, and the corners of her mouth briefly twitch upwards. I can see her struggling to suppress a smile, but her cheeks noticeably speak a different language.

“That,” she says, setting down the knife on the cutting board, “is none of your business.”

“Oh, come on, Inspectora,” I reply with a grin. “How much did you have to teach him?”

“That is also none of your business.”

“So you _did_ have to teach him,” I ask, a provocative smirk playing on my lips.

“Look, I don’t know what your game is, but I’m not playing it.”

“Okay, okay,” I reply and raise my hands theatrically in defeat and take a step back.

But then, to my surprise, I hear her sigh.

“I’m not your enemy, Tokyo”

I just look at her.

“Who said that’s what I think of you?” I finally reply, playing dumb.

“Don’t you think you were rather obvious about that yesterday?”

I grin. Good, then I had made myself clear.

“I understand why you don’t like me.”

I consider her for a while. Maybe if we had met in another life or under different circumstances, I would have liked her. But that’s not how life works.

She continues, “But our priority has to be getting Rio out, okay?”

“Sure,” I say demonstratively absentmindedly, reaching across the kitchen island and grabbing one of the sandwiches she has made for herself and take a bite.

I don’t even wait for her protest, but instead, I turn around, heading for the door.

* * *

When I knock on the Professor's door, it takes him a minute to open it. When the door swings open, for a split second, he seems surprised to see me there.

“Tokyo,” he says, having recovered from his momentary lapse. “Come in.”

“Were you expecting someone else?”

“I thought you might be Raquel. I didn’t know you were up already. How did you sleep?”

I shrug. “I’d sleep better if I knew Rio was safe.”

“I understand you have a lot on your mind, Tokyo. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to rescue Rio.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

“Let’s sit down, we have a lot to discuss,” he continues. He gestures to two armchairs in one corner of the room and, suddenly becoming aware of a small tower of books sitting on one of them, moves to remove them from the seat.

As I sit down and observe him shuffling around the room for a moment, I feel a wave of curiosity gripping me. How is this man, Sergio, the Professor, who awkwardly insisted that he’d had, in fact, had personal relationships before and who had told us about threesomes and other _structures_ the same person that makes the Inspectora blush like that? She doesn't strike me as a woman who blushes easily, so he must be doing something right. And judging from the shade of red on her cheeks, he's doing a lot of things right.

I catch myself staring just in time before he turns to face me and sits down in the other armchair, but my interest lingers.

“So about yesterday…” he starts, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He still seems so uneasy and reserved, I can’t really wrap my head around it. “I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

I raise my eyebrows. _An explanation._ That is not what I had expected him to say. Frankly, I had thought that he was going to lecture me some more about my conduct with the Inspectora… _Lisbon_.

“I should have told you that Raquel was going to be here when I met with you in Thailand,” he says. “I should have been honest about that with you.”

“Professor, I am not upset with _you,_ ” I venture to say.

“I understand that you’re struggling to accept Raquel.”

“She is a _cop_.”

“She _was_ a cop.”

“We can’t trust them. You should know that.”

He looks squarely in my eyes as he continues. “What I didn’t tell you yesterday is that the heist succeeded _because_ of her.”

I frown. “What on earth are you talking about?”

He sighs, shifting in this seat once more. “She kept our location to herself and kept sub-inspector Rubio from revealing our location until we had all gotten out.”

“Why?”

His face takes on a pained expression. “Because she fell in love with me. She sacrificed everything so that you and I – Denver, Monica, Helsinki, Nairobi, Rio – all of us – could escape.” He takes a labored breath, and his whole demeanor is still laden with guilt as he continues. “I approached her on the first day of the heist, that’s how we met. I approached her with the intention to gain her trust, to get information from her and to attack the police from two sides. I used her even though I was falling in love with her. And eventually, I lost control.” He pauses again and eyes me before he continues. “I… I didn’t expect to fall in love with her, I didn’t plan it, but it happened.”

“Okay, fine. But tell me this: How do you know she isn’t just playing you?”

“She fell in love with me before she knew who I was.”

“Are you sure about that? How would _you_ know?”

For a moment he looks like he’s taking offense to my question, he breathes in as if he has a retort ready, but then he stops, his expression changes. “I just _know_ ,” he says emphatically. “I saw it happening to her as it was happening to me.”

He hesitates for a moment before he continues. “It was _me_ who tricked her into something. _I_ was the one pulling the strings. After she found out who I was, I walked away while she had her gun pointed at me. If she hadn’t been in love with me, why would she have let me go? She could have easily shot me, prevented me from getting away, and yet she didn’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just after I had arranged for you to escape on your way to judge, she discovered that I was the Professor. She took me to the house in Toledo to interrogate me, and she eventually decided to turn me in. However, I managed to free myself and just walked away. I told her that I wasn’t going to stop and that the only way for her to stop me was to shoot me. She didn’t.”

I remain frozen in my seat, stupefied, unable to decide what to make of his revelation. Finally, I lean back in my seat.

“Damn, Professor, that’s one hell of a story.”

“It’s true. I don’t expect you to understand how I feel–”

“Oh, I’m not doubting that you fell in love with her.”

“This is more than that. Tokyo, I need you to understand that.”

I say nothing and he shoots me a long look. “She quit the police force a short while after the heist. Besides, what would she get out of turning you in? Even if she was on a personal vendetta, I would be the one she should take revenge on. God knows I deserved it.”

“Why not take down your whole team with you while she’s at it?”

“Do you think she’d move her family, her mother and daughter, and herself half-way across the world to be a fugitive on the off-chance that she could take revenge on my team?”

My eyes widen. “She moved her family here?”

“Yes, they live here with us.” He glances around the room, his gaze settling on a picture that sits on top of his desk. He rises out of his chair to get it, and when he comes back, he extends the arm holding the picture towards me. “This is Paula, she just turned ten.”

I catch a brief glimpse of his face, and his eyes shine as he continues telling me about his family. I’d never considered the Professor a family man, but I can see how affected he is, and I don’t quite know what to do with that information. He seems strangely content. It suits him, like happiness suits anybody, but he almost seems like a different person to me.

For the first time, it strikes me that maybe not all Inspectora-induced changes are bad. I almost want to deny it, I want to push the thought away because I don’t trust that woman, but for a split second, I find myself almost _glad_ she’s entered his life. I find myself slowly shaking my head at the realization.

“Why haven’t I seen them?”

“We sent them on a little trip yesterday, so the three of us could talk. Right now, Paula is at school and Mariví, Raquel’s mother, has gone for a walk with her nurse.” He shrugs. “You’ll meet them sooner or later.”

I nod solemnly. A persistent voice in my head tells me that the Inspectora moving her family here shouldn’t change anything. She is still a cop. She could still have given our location to the authorities. She might have just gone the extra mile to bring her family to lull the Professor into a false sense of security. But that voice sounds ridiculous even to me now.

A few moments pass and then, there is a soft knock on the door. A moment later, the Inspectora pops her head in.

“Oh,” she says, as if surprised to see the two of us here together. “Should I come back later?”

The Professor and I share a look, and I nod at him.

“No, I think Tokyo and I are done for now.”

I greet the Inspectora with a thin smile and push past her through the living room and into the guest room where my things still lie untouched, my small backpack in the chair in the corner and the proof of my nightly turmoil still imprinted in the pillow and the sheets, the pillows disheveled and the blanket flung across the bed, halfway on the floor.

Suddenly, there is a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I answer, the door opens and the Professor stands in the doorway.

“Tokyo, Raquel and I are going to go out for a little bit. There are food and drinks in the fridge and books and other things in the living room. Help yourself… we’ll be back in a while.”

“Okay,” I reply, nodding slightly.

He responds with a smile. “We shouldn’t be gone for too long.”

I return his smile, and with another nod, he is gone.

* * *

When I come out of my room and step into the living room, I can see the Professor and the Inspectora in the distance, walking away from the house, and I can’t help but watch them from the patio, taking care to not to be in plain view of them, half hiding behind one of the potted plants.

His left arm is draped across her back and tucked in between her arm and her side while her right arm circles around his back, too, her hand resting on his waist.

Once they reach the ocean, they stop for a moment because he suddenly, swiftly, draws her close to him. Her hands reach up to cup his face to pull him into a kiss, and he complies all too willingly. They melt into each other as he encircles her waist, pressing her against him. They stay like that for a while, kissing each other without haste or hesitation.

There is no delay in their movements. There is a flow to their interactions, and they seem to anticipate the other’s movements, meeting them with equal enthusiasm and desire. It’s just her and him and that moment. Neither seems to notice the ocean washing up against their legs. Their kisses seem sweet and when they break apart, they appear to be reluctant to let go of each other.

Then she says something to him, and I can see him grinning broadly. I frown. A part of me is suddenly curious about what she has said to him because I have never seen him laugh like that.

As they continue walking, I can see her moving her arm around his, their palms sliding into each other, his fingers intertwining with hers.

In a moment, they’re gone from my view.

I wander around the house, unsure of what to do now that I have it all to myself. As I turn to look around, I notice that the door to their bedroom is open slightly. I look around carefully, but there is no one there to stop me and my curiosity is killing me. I push the door further open and step inside. It does feel strange to be in this room, but only a moment later my mind springs into action.

I walk over to the wardrobe, and opening one of the heavy wooden doors, I find a number of shirts and pants neatly stacked on top of each other. I smirk. Evidently the Professor’s.

I open the other side, too. An array of muted, earth-colored shirts and dresses. Hers. Flicking through the hangers, nothing jumps out at me. They are all just the same greens and beiges. Certainly nothing I would _ever_ wear.

At the top of the shelf, above the hangers, I notice a little box. I pull it out, and walk over to the dresser, setting the box down on top of it, almost knocking over a jewelry display in front of me. I scramble to catch it just in time, and I readjust some of the things on it so my snooping around will go unnoticed.

With renewed interest, I resume skimming through the contents in the box.

There are a couple of pictures in it. The Professor standing on the patio, staring out to the ocean, seemingly unaware that someone is taking a picture of him. The Inspectora, Paula and… what was her name? Marivi, yes! Paula and Marivi smiling into the camera. The next thing in the stack is a folded piece of paper and I set down the remaining images to unfold it. The Professor and the Inspectora seated in a cafe in what looks like a screenshot of a surveillance recording.

What is all this?

The furrow in my brows deepens when I glance at the next item in the stack. Four postcards, held together by a string. They all depict beaches, Suriname, Denpasar-

“Have you found what you’re looking for?” Without a warning, I suddenly hear the Inspectora’s voice behind me, and when I jerk my head around, I see her leaning against the doorframe. Startled, I almost drop the postcards, and I struggle to recompose myself.

“I forgot my sunglasses,” she explains, walking over to me and reaching for the ones that I had just put back on the display, “and look who I find going through our things…”

“What are these?”

“What do they look like to you?” she asks back, raising her eyebrows.

“Why do you keep these postcards here? Who are you sending them to?”

“Turn them around,” she orders, and I do. At first, I don’t notice anything special about them, but then I notice the inscriptions in the corners of the postcards.

“Are these…?”

“Coordinates, yes.”

“Of?”

“Here. Palawan. Well, technically a little further north.”

“Are you going to send these to your colleagues in Madrid?”

She grins as if I’ve made a hilarious joke, but then her smile becomes more reflective and she grabs one from my hand.

“These are what led me here,” she explains, and her smile softens. “What brought me back to Sergio.”

She grabs the others from my hand, too, arranging them on the dresser so that they state the coordinates in the right order.

“Sergio gave them to me shortly before the heist was over. It took me a year to connect the dots.”

“He gave them to you so you could find him?” I say, a little breathless.

“Yes.”

I can feel the blood drain from my body. He had risked everything… for _her_? I don’t know what to say anymore.

“Why would he do that?” I finally press.

“I think you already know the answer.”

I shoot her a look before I turn my attention to the postcards again.

“What are these pictures for?” I inquire, and before I can stop myself, I add, “Are they proof that you have located one of the most wanted criminals?”

“This” – she points to the picture in the café – “is from one of the surveillance cameras in the café where Sergio and I met. I asked my ex-colleague to give me the picture because Sergio and I hadn’t taken any other pictures together, and I wanted something to remember him by. Not just my memory or an identikit. This one here” – she points to the picture of the Professor – “I took on one of our last days together before I went back to Spain to arrange for my family to come here and this one” – she shuffles through the remaining stack of pictures I haven’t gotten to yet and pulls out a picture of her and the Professor hugging and him kissing the side of her face – “we took for that purpose, too. The one of my mother, my daughter and I was one of the ones Sergio wanted to keep while we were apart. Any other questions?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Why are you not mad at me? Why are you so calm?”

“Oh, believe me, I am mad at you. But I just don’t think that yelling at you or kicking you out will do anyone any good. Like I said before, I understand why you don’t trust me, and I can’t make you believe what you don’t want to believe. So let me tell you this: if I catch you going through our things one more time or if I notice that you’re disrespectful towards Sergio, or my daughter, or my mother, I will make sure you _know_ I am mad.”

She turns to leave the room, sunglasses in hand.

“Hey, uhm... can you please not tell the Professor about this?”

She throws me a look. “I’ll think about it. And now get the hell out of here.”

* * *

When I get back to the guest room after grabbing a bite to eat in the kitchen and spending a while browsing the books in the living room, I can hear the Professor and the Inspectora in the hallway; their voices mingle with three other ones, one young, one old and one somewhere in the middle. Paula, Mariví and her nurse. They are really here. But I’m too exhausted to really think about them now.

I heave a sigh and grab my backpack, emptying its contents on the bed. At first, I just stare at the heap in front of me. For most of my life, I’ve been on the run, but it never ceases to amaze me how all my belongings, my whole life, can fit into one bag. Slowly, I start sorting through my things, lifting a shirt from the little heap on the bed, and I suddenly see a silver necklace shimmering in the soft light in the room. Rio’s dog tag.

The renewed awareness that he is still out there somewhere being tortured hits me like a brick. I lift the thing delicately, as if I could break it, before my hand closes around it and I press it to my chest. I slump down on the bed, and I feel tears streaming down my face. The voices have ebbed away now, and I am left with my own thoughts. The entire day, I’ve been wishing I could make the Inspectora switch places with Rio, but as I imagine him, hungry, cold and lonely in a cell somewhere, I realize that I don’t really wish that on anyone. I can feel new tears pooling in my eyes now, and I wipe them away before they can drop.

There is a weariness that suddenly envelops me, and I just want to close my eyes and forget about all of this, but I can’t. I glance at the dog tag once more and, suddenly, the air becomes oppressive and thick. I let go of the necklace and the tags clank against each other as they fall back on the bed.

I need air. I stumble out of my room and out onto the veranda, and even that doesn’t seem enough, I just keep going until I am knee-deep in the ocean.

It takes a moment, before the waves bring me back to the present, but eventually, the rushing of the water makes me calm down again.

I move to the hammock once again and lie down, suddenly tired and exhausted beyond measure, and the ocean lulls me to sleep.


	3. Bargaining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! I hope you and your loved ones are safe, and I hope this chapter can help to keep your spirits up. I tried to write it as fast as I could! 
> 
> As always, I have to thank Evendale for her moral support during my writing process, for discussing my story with me in detail, for going over certain scenes with me again and again, for reading this multiple times when I doubted myself, and for everything else. ❤ 
> 
> I also have to thank Corny_Cornflakes who was always there for me when I had questions or when I needed some feedback and whose help was vital to the creation of this chapter. I cannot thank you enough!
> 
> In this chapter, I really struggled with one particular scene because I wanted to do it right and do the characters justice, and I have to thank Viviane Moraes (@viviimoraess) who stayed up late with me to figure this out for her help. Thank you so so much, I really appreciate it!
> 
> You guys are the real MVPs.

The sky is still dark when I wake up. I lift my hand to wipe away some of the sweat that has formed on my forehead. The weather here is not much different from that in Panama, except for the humidity, which is definitely something I could do without.

I wonder why the Professor has chosen this place. Did he choose it before or after he met the Inspectora? Was this planned or was moving to this very spot tainted by a sudden whimsical, sentimental mood? He plans things meticulously; this I know about him. Maybe he chose this place out of a line of other locations he had prepared. But even though I think I know him – or at least I thought I did - much of what I have learned in the last two days has made me question that.

I wouldn’t have pegged him as a person living by the beach. But then again I hadn’t expected to find him here with an entire family either. I imagine he didn’t have a lot of options either way location-wise. Though I wonder if maybe somewhere in the mountains of Peru might have been more suitable for him.

It’s weird to think about the Professor living here with a woman – the Inspectora no less – and her mother and daughter. The Professor is a father now. The information isn’t new anymore, but the concept still seems strange. And yet the fondness he seems to have for Paula is almost palpable. He seems relaxed, content even, and the Inspectora manages to bring out a side of him I’ve never seen before.

But I also have to confess that she is, and I almost hate to admit this to myself, not as bad as I thought. And maybe, just maybe, I was wrong about her.

And yet, there is something that irks me about her being here, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. But then it falls like scales from my eyes. I’ve always thought of the Professor as a neutral person, unaffected by any personal relationships even if he tried. But here, with _her_ , that has changed. Even in my own, let’s say, _dispute_ with the Inspectora, I had thought of him as a neutral party. I hadn’t thought of him as involved with anyone, least of all her. But now, thinking back, it should have been so obvious from the first moment I saw her here. I had seen him running out after her, determined to stop whatever was going to happen between us, but he hadn’t stopped _her_. He had stopped _me_.

In our conversations after that, he had never tired of defending her, his stance unwavering. Even then, I had thought that he’d see what I see if I just explained it right or if I asked the right questions. I had thought that I could sway him, change the way he sees her, but I never even stood a chance. He is certain about her. And he is a man of absolute certainties. _I trust her with my life._ He had chosen her, over and over again. He had also chosen her during the heist. Even back then. He had given her the coordinates to the place where he would go into hiding before the heist had even ended, and whether he had done that blinded by love or had just been misguided, he had taken that chance on her.

He is no longer unaffected. He is no longer the Professor, but Sergio Marquina. He is no longer my guardian angel. And perhaps he never was.

* * *

When I approach the house that morning it seems to be bustling with life. The wind chimes near the door are tinkling in the soft morning breeze and muffled voices and laughter ebb out from inside the house. There seems to be a lot of that when I’m not around.

I enter and the laughter dies away, just like I thought. In the silence that follows, every head turns to me.

“Tokyo, have a seat,” the Professor says, but I hesitate.

“Yes, dear, come sit with us,” Mariví adds empathetically, and pats the chair next to her expectantly.

I throw a glance at Raquel and she shrugs ever so slightly.

As I sit down next to Mariví, she gives me a radiant smile. “How did you sleep?”

“You were out pretty early. You’re probably pretty jetlagged,” the Professor says, and I nod.

“What’s _jetlagged_?” Paula asks.

“Remember when you came here to live with me, and you were really tired?”

Paula nods.

“Tokyo here is experiencing the same thing.”

“Where did she come from?” Paula wonders.

“She was in a country called Panama.”

“I know where that is!”

“You do?”

“Yes, I learned about it in school!”

Mariví turns to me. “What do you want to eat, dear? We have toast, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit – you should try the mangoes, they’re excellent – some fried rice, Mahalia makes the best fried rice…”

“Try some champorado,” Paula adds cheerfully.

“It’s her favorite,” Mariví explains in a conspiratorial whisper, laughter in her voice.

“Sure, I’ll try it,” I say, glancing at the Inspectora again before I take the small bowl Paula offers me.

Today and especially in this environment, I am particularly wary of her. I shouldn’t have gone through their things, but I definitely shouldn’t have asked her to keep this from the Professor. I don’t even know why I asked her not to tell him. It’s not like he would have kicked me out. Though somehow I still feel like I’ve violated his trust in some irredeemable way. However, having asked her to keep it to herself makes it worse. I had practically handed her my dignity on a silver platter.

I lift a spoonful to my mouth, and to my side, out of the corner of my eye I notice how Paula is watching me. The champorado is surprisingly good but overwhelmingly sweet. No wonder Paula likes it.

“Do you like it?” Paula asks, giving me a toothy grin.

“It’s good,” I say smiling at Paula, and then I carefully taking a sip of my coffee before taking another spoonful. “I’m just not sure if I can finish it all… it’s a little too sweet for me.”

Next to me, Mariví chuckles. “You don’t have a sweet tooth, I see.”

“More for me!” Paula declares and snatches the bowl from in front of me.

“Paula,” Raquel scolds her from across the table.

“No, it’s okay,” I reply, “she can have it.”

“I can make it a little less sweet tomorrow,” Mahalia adds.

“Oh, no, please, don’t worry about me.”

“Here, have some mangoes!” Mariví says. “I think you will like these.” She reaches across the table and hands me a platter with some cubed mangoes.

It’s easily the best mango I’ve ever had. Sweet, mellow and just a little bit of tanginess. I take another bite.

“I can see you like that one,” Mariví remarks.

“It’s _very_ good,” I confirm.

“Looks like we have a winner then!” Mariví proclaims.

“Can you pass me the scrambled eggs too, please?” I ask, suddenly really hungry.

“Oh, they are very good, too. I got these eggs this morning from the farmers market in Madrid.”

I frown. “You mean you got them from a farmers market here in Palawan?”

Something in her expression changes, but then she picks up right where she left off and says, “That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”

I look at the Inspectora, who gives me a thin-lipped smile. I see the Professor reaching for her hand across the table, giving it a squeeze and running his thumb over the back of her hands. Her eyes flicker to him for a moment, and a hint of a grateful smile appears on her lips.

I finish my breakfast, as do the others, and after a while, only the Inspectora, the Professor and I are left sitting at the table.

“When are the others gonna get here?”

“Raquel and I have contacted all of their transporters. Nairobi and Helsinki were a little harder to get hold of, but we eventually found them in Argentina.”

There it is again. _Raquel and I_.

“They should all get here within the next couple of days. My guess is Tuesday.”

“That’s in three days,” I say. It is more of a question than a statement.

“I would have preferred to have them here sooner, but you can’t rush these things when you’re a fugitive and you can’t use regular means of transportation. Besides, this gives us a little more time to take care of things here.”

I’m guessing he refers to Paula and Mariví and the life they have built here together. As he presents this information to me, I can see Raquel looking at him, nodding along with what he’s saying. He glances at her every once in a while, and she meets the question in his looks with reassurance. Now, more than ever, I am acutely aware that they are a team… and I am on the outside. I suddenly wonder if she has told him about my excursion into their bedroom. It seems like something she’d share with him. Perhaps not out of malice, but because they are so close. There is something about the way they communicate with each other, every action, every word, every touch, every look immediately understood by the other. There seems to be no barrier between them, everything so _connected._

The more I look at them, the more I become convinced that she has told him. They’re so in tune, so connected, how could she not? Besides, I’m sure she’d get some sort of kick out of telling him.

I can’t say that I trust her just yet. The resentment I felt when I first saw her on the beach has subsided, but now I am _really_ annoyed by how easily I’ve surrendered my dignity to her. And how easily she used it against me. _I’ll think about it._ She had said it almost nonchalantly as if she honestly considered honoring my request, but somehow it also sounded like she was most definitely going to tell him. She had been deliberately ambiguous, playing with me. Maybe I had deserved that just a little. So maybe she didn’t tell him. Or maybe she did. I can’t decide which it is. The little voice in the back of my head keeps nagging me, keeps telling me that this is a trap.

“It is absolutely essential that we convince them to join us once they get here. I cannot stress this enough. The plan succeeds and fails with them. Only with them. We need to go in as a team, as partners. It’s all or nothing. We can’t afford to have discordance.”

He pauses and takes a look at Raquel. I see him take a breath before he continues.

“Which brings me to another issue. Raquel told me– ”

“Oh, _of course_ she did,” I mutter under my breath and, to my surprise, his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

My gaze slowly drifts to the Inspectora, all the time wondering if I’m misinterpreting his expression. She didn’t tell him?

She raises her eyebrows challengingly, a slight smile playing on her lips.

“Told me what?” the Professor asks, his eyes going back and forth between her and me.

“Nothing,” I say quickly.

“We had a little disagreement yesterday, but that’s settled now, right, Tokyo?” Raquel says.

I nod, dumbfounded. There must be a reason she didn’t tell him. The Professor carries on, but I only hear half of what he says. I’m half relieved, half curious. Why didn’t she tell him?

“So, as I was saying, Raquel told me she thinks it’s probably not a good idea to have her here when the gang arrives, and I agree.”

My eyes dart to the Inspectora once more, surprised.

“You slap me around at the beach, and now you wanna stay away from the others?” I cock my head and look at her expectantly.

“Tokyo, we need to convince the others to join and we need to execute this carefully,” the Professor urges, but my eyes remain fixed on the Inspectora.

“You were kind of asking for it,” she states, eyebrows raised.

I smirk.

“Well…,” the Professor interrupts, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I just want to emphasize that this is crucial. They need to know about Raquel, but we have to ease them into it. We don’t want another incident like that on our hands, do we?”

He looks at me intently and after I nod, he turns his head to Raquel. Something about the way he looks at her makes me think that this is not the first time she has slapped someone. She shrugs ever so slightly.

“Right. I’ll get back to my study then. I have a lot of work to do.”

He gets up to leave and Raquel moves to follow his example.

As she is about to leave the room, I tap her shoulder.

“Hey, uhm… thanks,” I mumble.

She turns around. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that, can you say it again?”

“You heard what I said.”

She grins.

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

“Because you asked… and besides, what would I get out of telling Sergio?”

“Satisfaction?” I supply.

“I’m sure being caught red-handed and having to ask me to keep my mouth shut was humiliating enough.”

I square my jaw and purse my lips.

“I guess so.”

“But just so you know, I won’t hold this over your head in the future either.”

When I narrow my eyes at her again, she adds, “I told you I’m not your enemy.”

“Fine.”

I hesitate for a moment before I speak again.

“Can I… can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“I’m sorry to ask you this, but… your mother…”

“Alzheimer’s. She already had symptoms back in Spain, but her doctors are optimistic… for now.”

“Oh fuck, that sucks,” I say, and I mean it, but my words feel small.

She nods. “It is what it is. But today seems to be a very good day. She hasn't had one of those in a while.”

When she leaves the room, I can feel that my resolve is starting to crumble – the image I have of the Inspectora has begun to shift almost against my will, little by little.

* * *

A while after breakfast, I retire to the living room, flailing myself backwards across the couch. I lie there for a while, watching the ceiling fan turn above me, round after round.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a small figure peeking into the room. Before she has a chance to retreat, she notices that I’ve caught her watching me. She seems to ponder for a moment, unsure about whether to approach me.

A moment or two passes before she peeks around the corner again, and this time, she half-enters the room. Almost despite myself, I smile at her.

“Hola,” she says.

“Hey,” I reply, quickly scanning the room for her mother. I don’t mind Paula, but I am really not too keen on having to deal with the Inspectora again.

“What’s your name?”

“Everyone calls me Tokyo.”

“Is that your real name? Tokyo is a city name, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but everyone just calls me that.”

“But you do have a real name, right?” she insists.

“Yes, uhm… Silene,” I answer hesitantly.

“I like Silene.”

I grin. “Thanks, Paula.”

“Is your… isn’t your mom around?” I ask carefully, still looking around to see if I can spot anyone.

“No,” Paula simply says. She considers me for a moment, as if unsure about something. As she contemplates, I can’t help but notice how much she resembles her mother. They have the same eyes, the same shape, and color. The expression on her face. Her forehead scrunches in much the same way as her mother’s.

“You don’t like my mom very much, do you?”

Taken aback by her question, it takes me a second to formulate an answer.

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s just something I’ve noticed… you always look at her like you’re mad at her.”

“I do, huh?”

“It’s okay,” Paula says in lieu of my reply, “I don’t think she likes you very much either.”

“Is that so?”

“She says you’re stubborn and impulsive.”

“Oh,” was all I was able to say. It wasn’t that I was offended or that she was wrong… but I had somehow expected worse. “Did she… say anything else?”

“She also said you’re fearless.” This likewise surprises me, but it in an entirely different way… was this… a compliment?

“She did?”

“Uh-huh.”

There is a brief silence.

“It’s not that I hate your mom.”

“But you don’t like her”

“It’s complicated”

“Why?”

I don’t answer.

“I can’t really say,” I say evasively, and there is an awkward pause as she keeps looking at me expectantly, so I say, “Your mom’s line of work… didn’t exactly agree with mine.”

“My mom was a police officer. Are you a bad guy?”

Boy, she’s sharp.

“Do I look like a bad guy?”

“No,” she says simply. “But you don’t always see that from the outside. Some people are bad even if they don’t seem like they are. And some people are good even though they do bad things.”

For a solid minute, I just stare at her. Damn.

“Who told you that?”

“My mom.”

I feel a little faint. Her _mom_ told her that?

“But you don’t seem like a bad person either.”

“Thanks,” I manage to say, still somehow floored by the fact that the Inspectora has told her this. A few moments pass and Paula just stands there looking at me as if she is waiting for me to spring back into action.

And so I try to change the topic. “So tell me, do you like it here?”

“Yes!” she enthusiastically replies.

“What do you like most? The beach?” She nods eagerly. “I guess must have been quite a change for you to move here, huh?”

She looks at me and suddenly her face lights up with enthusiasm. “I have to show you something!” she declares and takes me by the hand and lunges me forward, off the sofa.

I get up, and she pulls me outside towards the water, but then takes a left turn towards a more secluded part of the beach, hidden behind some palm trees.

“Look,” she whispers, pointing at an area secured by a couple of poles stuck in the sand around it. “It’s a turtle nest.”

“That’s incredible!”

The well in the sand doesn’t look hugely spectacular, but Paula’s excitement is infectious.

“I found it yesterday before I had to go to school. Did you know that sea turtles can lay between fifty and a hundred fifty eggs? And did you know that the temperature can affect if they’re boy turtles or girl turtles? And they can live for one hundred years.”

I grin. “How do you know so much about turtles, Paula?”

“Sergio told me. He knows a _lot_ of things.”

This makes me laugh out loud. “Yeah, he is very smart.”

“So you _really_ like it here, huh?”

“So so much!”

“Do you miss home sometimes?”

She hesitates for a moment, then decidedly shakes her head. “Not really.”

“How come?”

“Well, because Sergio is here,” she says as though it’s the most obvious thing.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I like him. He’s funny. And he makes mom laugh” – she lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper – “sometimes they kiss for hours.”

I chortle at her admission.

“Does your mom love him?”

She giggles as a response.

“What’s so funny?”

“You ask silly questions,” she answers, giggling even more now. “He also taught me origami.”

“Of course he did,” I grin.

“Do you want me to show you?”

I’m about to decline when, on a whim, I decide differently. “Sure, show me what you’ve got.”

But before we can go anywhere, the Inspectora appears behind Paula, her face deeply worried, and I sense that the fun is over.

“Paula, there you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

I feel a twinge of guilt.

“Mommy, look!” Paula exclaims, pointing at the turtle nest. The last trace of worry on her face disappears and she lets Paula take her by the hand and drag her towards the nest.

“So that’s what you and Sergio were up to yesterday morning, huh?”

Paula nods excitedly, bombarding her mom with turtle facts.

And suddenly I remember the conversation I overheard between the Professor and The Inspectora yesterday in the morning – _It’s a shame we won’t be here when they hatch_ – and my heart breaks a little for Paula whose world will be turned on its head in only a couple of days. With her mother and the Professor gone, all that is left is her grandmother who is slowly losing her memory and might even forget that she has a granddaughter at some point.

 _There are a lot of risks involved._ And suddenly I feel a heaviness grip me because I realize that depending on how this heist goes, the changes Paula will go through might be permanent. I take a deep breath.

“I just showed them to Silene,” Paula explains.

At the mention of my name, she shoots me a surprised look, and I shrug.

“That’s amazing, sweetheart, but you can’t run off like that, you hear? You have to let an adult know where you’re going.”

“But I was with Silene.”

She looks at me for a second before she continues. “I know, Paula, but you have to tell Sergio or me. Silene is new here and she doesn’t know our rules yet, okay?”

Paula nods.

“Come on, cariño, lunch is almost ready. We’re having paella. Come on, go wash your hands.”

The Inspectora gives her a little push as Paula runs off to the house.

“Look, I didn’t know– I didn’t mean to–”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Paula knows the rules.”

We continue walking to the house in silence and when we reach the entrance, she vanishes into one of the rooms.

I stand at the entrance unsure what to do with myself, staring into the direction in which the Inspectora has disappeared.

“She’s changed a lot, you know?”

I turn around and see Mariví standing behind me, leaning against the doorway.

“Changed how?”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed yourself… some things you can’t _not_ notice.”

A whimsical smile plays on her lips.

“Walk with me.”

She beckons me to come closer, waving her hand towards her until I am right next to her. Then, she links arms with me and starts walking outside, then turns right to a small part of the patio I hadn’t noticed before, overlooking the ocean. The whole space is filled with all kinds of paints, an easel, and countless paintings leaning against the wall in the back.

“This is my favorite part of the house,” she says as if she just entrusted me with her biggest secret. “Sometimes, I come here in the mornings to paint. You should come paint with me sometime.”

She gives me an encouraging smile.

“Oh, I’m not sure I should… I’d suck at it.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. You can see it as a way to ease your mind, an exercise in patience.”

Yup, that does sound like something I’d be terrible at, but I don’t tell her that. Instead, I give her a cautious smile, and she continues.

“You should try it. Really allows you to change your perspective… look at things a different way if you only move just a little bit from where you originally stood.”

Suddenly, I’m not sure if this is an art class or a lesson in philosophy or if she’s giving me life advice.

“The dawn is magnificent here as is the sunset… have you seen it?”

“I’ve seen the sun rise, but I haven’t really seen it set yet.”

I look around, and I can see some of her creations in the back part of the patio. One of the paintings catches my eye, an impressionist painting depicting a sky in a pinkish hue with gradient white and pink clouds, giving way to an orange sun rising over a purple beach.

Mariví catches my gaze and says, “This one I painted just the other day.”

It’s the same sunrise I saw just yesterday, I’m sure.

“It’s beautiful!”

I nod.

Just when I turn my head back, I notice one of the Professor’s origami figures sitting on top of Mariví’s easel, and I grin.

“Oh these,” she says, “Sergio makes these. They’re quite beautiful, don’t you think? It’s a beautiful thing, really, to give shape and meaning to a blank piece of paper.”

Origami isn’t really my thing. I don’t have the patience and I vividly remember making fun of the Professor’s paper figures when he had taken Rio off the heist.

However, perhaps through the way she describes it, it becomes a thing of beauty.

“Sergio showed me how to do it, he showed all of us, but it’s a little complicated, so I forget. But you can really make these figures out of any piece of paper… a newspaper, or a page from a book – although I would not recommend tearing a page out of a book, especially not in _this_ house – so even something you’re already familiar with or something you think you know can be given a new form.”

I grin at her. “You’re full of wisdom, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I mean, you gotta get something out of getting old,” she chuckles. “We should go back, we’re having paella and I want some while it’s still hot.”

She takes my hand and we walk back inside the house where Paula and the Inspectora have already set the table. It smells delicious, to say the least. From the back, I can see the Professor leave his study to join us for lunch. He walks over to the Inspectora, encircling her waist and pressing a kiss to her hair. The second she feels his touch, her face lights up. She turns her head to face him, lifting a hand to run her fingers along the side of his face and through his beard, drawing him closer with her other hand and melting against him. She places a soft kiss on his cheek, and then she lets go of him again, albeit _very_ reluctantly.

She takes his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles and they sit down at the table.

And then, little by little, almost against my will, I begin to notice just how much the Inspectora has changed. Because Mariví is right, _some things you can’t_ not _notice_.

There is a glint in her eyes, a spark that hadn’t been there before when I first met her inside the Royal Mint a little over three years ago.

Then, everything about her had borne all the traces of years of being in the police force, a rigidness to her behavior, the adherence to their code of conduct, a certain conformity – which had also made her predictable. Even when she had interviewed the hostages one by one, she had seemed removed.

The only time I had ever seen her so much as smile was when she had talked to Monica regarding her pregnancy and the rewards of having children. I realize now that everything she had said to Monica, she must have said with her own child in mind.

But other than that, she had behaved the exact same way every police officer I had ever met had behaved. Thinking they are so much better, so much smarter than the rest of us. Making us believe they are here to help and plotting our downfall at the same time.

I hate to admit it and they will never hear me say it out loud, but I’m starting to think that maybe I was wrong about her. I almost don’t recognize her now.

Now, there is a lightness and flow to her movements. Freedom and confidence in the way she moves around. I remember well how, when she had walked into Mint, her face had seemed cold, distanced, reserved. Now, it seems _alive_. And even when she is sternly focused on something, she seems content.

Three years after my first encounter with her, she seems like a flower that has finally seen spring after a cold winter. Here, in Palawan, with the Professor, she has blossomed. She’s a thorny flower – or at least I think so – but she’s in bloom nonetheless.

There is a radiance to her smile when she looks at him, a softness in her expression. Their touches are delicate and tender. Maybe she had changed. Maybe the Professor had changed her as she had changed him.

* * *

After lunch, I return to my room once more. The house is very quiet now. Everyone has either left or they’re resting now, I suppose. The Professor went out a while ago to deal with some heist-related things, and Mariví went to take her afternoon nap.

On my bed, my things still lie untouched in a heap. I pick up Rios dog tags again, carefully placing them on my nightstand. My gaze lingers on them for a minute before I tear myself away. I take a deep breath and finally start going through the rest of my things, folding the few clothes that I have and placing them on the little table by the chair in the corner.

After a while, I hear footsteps outside. Quiet, careful steps. Stopping every so often. Something doesn’t seem right.

I frown and walk over to the door. I gaze out into the hallway and see Mariví pacing through the hallway, walking this way, then that. When she finally turns around, I know that something is not right. Mariví doesn’t only seem lost, she looks lost, too.

When she sees me, hope flickers across her face and she moves towards me.

“Hello dear, can you help me?” she asks, holding on to my hands. There is an urgency in her voice that makes me pause for a moment.

“Sure,” I answer, perplexed. “What do you need help with?”

“I can’t find them,” she explains, looking around.

“What are you looking for?” My gaze follows hers around the hallway.

“I have to find them,” she repeats to herself.

“Find what?” I’m unsure what to do and look around, trying to find Mahalia, but then I remember I overheard her say that she has the afternoon off. The Inspectora is nowhere to be found either.

“They were just here.”

“What was?” I look at her intently.

“My… uhm… I need to find them. It’s important.”

“It’s okay. I’ll help you look, okay?”

“I can’t lose them.”

“Can you describe it to me?”

“It’s kind of like…” Her hands move in the air in front of her face.

“Your glasses?”

“Yes! Yes!” Her face lights up with relief.

“Do you remember where you saw them last?”

She shakes her head.

“It’s gonna be okay, I’m sure we will find them,” I say gently, taking her left hand in my right, and placing my left hand on her back. “Let’s go back to your room, maybe we can find them there.”

Suddenly I hear footsteps behind me, “Find what?”

We turn around and I see the Inspectora approaching us from behind, a tray with a jug and a cup in her hands.

“My…”

Mariví looks at me.

“Her glasses. She’s trying to find her glasses.”

“They should be on her nightstand,” the Inspectora says, addressing me. “I’m sorry mama, I was just outside so I could bring Paula something to drink. I’ll be with you in a second, okay?”

She nods and the Inspectora disappears into the kitchen.

Slowly, Mariví and I continue our way to her room and once we reach it, the Inspectora catches up with us.

“I got you, mama,” she says, takes over from me and guides her mother inside. I catch a glimpse of Mariví’s room. It seems that in the search for her glasses, she has emptied the contents of some of her drawers on the floor and on her bed. The Inspectora shoots me a thankful look and closes the door behind her.

* * *

In the evening, I sit on the patio, looking up, fascinated by the view. The night sky looks spectacular. It’s so clear here, a million stars are visible all at once. It really is otherworldly. Even in Panama, there weren’t nearly as many stars. A part of me wonders if Mariví has ever painted the night sky from her little portion of the patio like she has painted the sunrise. It really looks like all the stars in this universe have congregated here on this piece of the sky.

I sit there for a while, mesmerized, until, gradually, I can hear footsteps approaching behind me from inside the house. I glance over my shoulder. It’s the Inspectora.

“Hey,” she says, “mind if I join you?”

I shrug.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she states soberly. “I brought you one of these,” she adds, holding a bottle of beer out to me, and I grin.

“Are you trying to bribe me?”

“I can put it back in the fridge if you don’t want it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

She laughs softly.

“That’s what I thought.”

We both fall silent for a moment and just listen to the ocean wash up against the beach.

“Thank you for your help with my mother today.”

I nod.

“How is she?”

“Better now. Resting.”

“It must be tough for you.”

“Some days more than others. The saddest thing is that the worst is yet to come. She’s gonna disappear more and more. She will get more irrational and impulsive… she’s gonna need a lot more help, too.”

“Alzheimer’s a bitch.”

“Cheers to that,” she says solemnly and grimaces.

We clank our bottles and listen to the waves some more, and, when the breeze picks up after a while, the wind chimes join in, too.

“Paula really seems to like you.”

I chuckle. “That must really bum you out, huh?”

She sneers.

“But she’s a great kid. Smart, too.”

“She is. Thank you for saying that.”

She looks at me from the side. “So you gave Paula your real name, huh?”

“She asked for it,” I say a little defensively, and she grins.

“Breaking the Professor’s rules already, and the heist hasn’t even begun yet.”

“You’re one to talk,” I shoot back, laughing. “No names, no personal information, _and_ no personal relationships. And with the Professor, too.”

“Oh,” she says lightly, “but I wasn’t part of the group back then, remember? He broke his own rules… and he broke them thoroughly.”

She grins at me, suddenly not so shy anymore, and I find myself grinning back.

I am still not entirely sure about her. It is difficult to shake off the image I have of her, but I’m starting to. Perhaps a part of me will always think of her as a cop, but I get the feeling that maybe I won’t. She has been living here with the Professor for two years, all of our locations ready at hand. She could have subdued the Professor herself if she had wanted to. One big sweep and six of the world’s most wanted would be locked up in Spanish prisons. And yet she hadn’t done that. Instead, she had moved her entire family halfway around the world, and for what? To arrest all of us here after two years of alleged undercover work? It seems utterly ridiculous to me now, and with this newfound clarity, the little nagging voice in the back of my mind, that had been so persistent yesterday and even today, has shut up too.

I have to keep thinking about what the Professor said yesterday. _Do you think she’d move half-way across the world to be a fugitive?_ It doesn’t seem like a fate anyone would willingly choose if there was another way. Always on the lookout. Always looking over your shoulder. No. She wouldn’t choose that. Least of all for her family. She would never choose that. Not unless she had to.

I look out to where I saw them kissing yesterday in the afternoon, completely immersed in each other.

“Do you really love him?”

“I do,” she smiles and her eyes shine.

She wouldn’t have come here unless she had to, and I am starting to understand why she had to.


	4. Depression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buenos días! ♥
> 
> Thank you all for waiting so patiently for this chapter! ♥ Season four really threw me, and I needed a moment to find the will to write again. I posted chapter three almost exactly a month ago, and I set today as a deadline for myself because didn't want you all to wait any longer than that. This chapter turned out WAY longer than I ever thought it would, so I hope that makes up for the fact that y'all had to wait this long. :) 
> 
> I am infinitely blessed with my beta, Evendale. I can't sing her enough praises. (I literally can't.) I don't have enough words to describe how lucky I am to have her in my life. Not only is she right there with me when I make things extra hard for myself and then cry about it, but her encouragement and her help when I got stuck were so so vital to the creation of this chapter. It's in no small part thanks to her that I keep writing (and that I do it considerably well). Her friendship means the world to me. She's the best, y'all. ♥
> 
> Shoutout to Corny_Cornflakes, too, for discussing some aspects of this chapter with me in-depth! ♥
> 
> Also, a BIG thank you to everyone who has left a comment or kudos on this story. They are what keep me motivated, especially the comments, no matter how long of how short. Thank you to each and every one of you! ♥ ♥ ♥

I lie in the hammock, a hand behind my head. Above me, two coconut trees shield me from the sun, a couple of coconuts nestling in their crowns. It’s a view all too familiar. For more than two years, it’s been the same idyllic image, endless beaches, and blue waters. A paradise. And yet, like so many times before, I can sense a feeling of dissatisfaction creeping up my veins.

Next to me, a coconut hits the ground. This, too, I’ve seen many times before and yet, this time, there is something about it that strikes me, and my dissatisfaction flares up again, but with more urgency now. I can feel my mind coming to a decision, my frustration fueling it.

In that moment, I recognize the scene. A feeling of unease starts rising in my chest. I know what’s happening; I realize it now. I know what’s coming, I’ve been there before. A deep panic strikes me as I notice myself get up from the hammock and walk over to Rio. No, no, no, no, no! I wanna tell myself to stop, but I can’t speak. I want to reach out to him, but nothing happens, a heaviness spreading through my body.

“You need some fresh air, don’t you? And I’m not in the bargain, am I?”

I just want to kick myself, yet I can’t move. It’s like I’m watching a bad movie with me as the protagonist. He looks so heartbroken, and I’d do anything right now to take him into my arms, but I can only watch as he comes to his own conclusions. He tears up, and I just wanna cry in frustration.

“Rio, I need to get out.”

No, you don’t need that, I want to tell myself. It’s not worth it. A deep discomfort settles over me as I listen to myself talk to him, a bone-deep aching to make things right almost tearing me apart. I should have told him to just come with me. I should have protected him. Now he is in some hellhole being tortured. Hurting, because of me.

Rio smiles at me, his eyes clouded with tears. Then, his eyes grow infinitely more tired, his gaze fixed somewhere on the ground. He is right in front of me now, hanging more than standing, his hands shackled to the wall. Water is pooling at his feet, his clothes drenched.

“Please,” he says weakly. “I just want to sleep.”

“Just tell me what I want to know, and we end this right here… don’t you want this to be over?” a voice says sweetly, and Rio’s eyes flicker to somewhere behind me.

He nods ever so slightly. Then his head turns to me and he looks me dead in the eye.

“This is all your fault,” he says.

I wake up with a start.

As I gradually adjust to the semi-darkness around me, I can feel my panic slowly taper off, but the guilt remains. It’s the first night I actually sleep in the guest room, but everything here just reminds me of Rio’s absence. Outside, I can at least pretend like I’m back in Panama. The ocean reminds me of Rio and the two happy years we spent in paradise, but here in this room, the waves of the ocean are faint and only barely audible over the electric whirring of the fan on the ceiling.

I heave a deep sigh and run a hand over my face, before it comes to rest on my forehead, pushing the hair out of my face. I can’t possibly go back to sleep now, so I get up and push the curtains at the window in my room open. Daylight is just breaking which means that the others will probably also be up soon.

I walk over to the door and carefully open it slightly. There is no noise audible whatsoever. I decide to seize this opportunity to take a shower. It’s wishful thinking, but maybe the water can wash away some of the dread I feel.

Before I make it safely across the hallway and into the bathroom, the Professor steps out of the bedroom he shares with the Inspectora.

“Tokyo,” he greets me.

I just nod at him and give him a thin smile.

“Why are you up so early?”

For a moment, I gesticulate with my hands. I’d rather just forget about the whole thing because there is nothing I can do about it anyway. And yet, it’s everywhere. It’s the reason I’m here after all. Because I screwed up. Again.

“Uhm… I…” he starts. “I’m sorry, are you okay?”

“I had a dream about Rio. I was back in Panama, and I just had to watch myself make the same mistakes all over again. And then he told me it’s my fault – which is fitting because I can never do anything right.”

I run my hand over my mouth, and I can feel my eyes welling up with tears.

“I just had to leave that island, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t buy those satellite phones.”

“No, but I still used it. I should have just refused… or thrown them in the ocean or… _something_. Or I could have just asked Rio to come with me. Then he wouldn’t have felt the need to use those stupid phones.”

“That’s true, but it’s as much his fault as it is yours.” He sighs. “Look, we can’t change what happened. But what we can do is focus on his rescue, hm?”

I shrug. He’s right, of course, as always.

“Hey, uhm… Professor… can I have a hug?”

He looks at his feet, then back at me, before he opens his arms to me.

“Thanks,” I say quietly.

“I promise we will get Rio back,” he declares, patting my back.

“I broke up with Rio before I left him on that island,” I whisper. “He knew it was coming. He had always known. He told me so during the first heist. Even though he knew it wouldn’t end well, he still stayed. I just feel so selfish now.”

“We can’t change the past,” he repeats, and I release him from my embrace. “It’s easy to beat yourself up over what already happened.”

“He knew it was coming, I knew it was coming, and yet we both ran towards this with open arms,” I insist, and a tear escapes from my eye. There is something in his expression that changes when I tell him this, and for a second, he looks like he just realized something, but he doesn’t say anything to me.

“You have to focus on the future now, Tokyo,” he maintains, a little absent.

“Are you okay?” I ask, but he waves a hand.

“We have work to do, Tokyo.” He excuses himself and disappears into his study.

* * *

After breakfast, I watch Mariví and Paula disappear outside, the child clinging to her grandmother’s arm as they walk out to the beach. I move across the living room and watch them as they walk away from the house. She looks so small next to her grandmother.

I wonder if Paula knows something is about to happen. She is so perceptive. She must know something is going on. Perhaps the Inspectora has already told her that she and her grandmother will have to move away for a while.

This is why I could never have children. I’m way too restless, way too selfish. I couldn’t even settle down with Rio for more than two years.

From the side, I suddenly see a figure running towards them and Mariví extends her other arm to embrace the Inspectora. Paula suddenly becomes livelier now, and, smiling broadly, starts hopping up and down next to her grandmother.

In some ways, I envy the Inspectora and the Professor. I like the idea of having a family. Someone who loves you, someone to come home to – or someone who comes home to you. Seeing your children smile at you. Such joy, such innocence. But then again, I’d be the one who would want to take an indefinite break from all of that every so often, who would want to just leave on a whim, and that wouldn’t be fair to anyone. It’s an idyllic picture. Yet it’s a dream that could never satisfy me.

I can’t help but wonder… the Inspectora is not like me. She wouldn’t just leave her family like that. Her mother and her daughter are dependent on her. I can’t help but think about them as a family unit of their own. They are the Inspectora’s primary family unit. A part of me wonders if Raquel would sell out the Professor in exchange for her family if she had to. Surely, she feels some more obligation to her mother and daughter than the Professor. It’s the Professor who sort of stumbled into their lives. The Inspectora might be loyal to the Professor, but she has her own entanglements.

It’s still a little bizarre to me to imagine the Professor as a father, a family man, willingly entering into a whole array of emotional entanglements. And yet, Paula seems to be in awe of him, and, judging from everything I’ve witnessed in this house so far, Mariví also seems to be taken with her daughter’s partner. The Professor had always urged us not to enter into personal relationships, ever wary of the power of emotional attachments, and yet he had formed the most out of any of us. But perhaps, as Sergio Marquina, this is exactly what he craved.

* * *

Around noon, I take another look at the bookshelves in the living room. A lot of classics. Joyce, Cervantes, Brecht, Kafka, Homer… Nothing that particularly sparks my interest. Shelf after shelf seems to be filled with either the old masters or something equally boring, mostly books on international law, history, and geography. I’m inclined to turn my attention away from the bookshelves when a particular book catches my eye. It’s a thick volume on Palawan’s wildlife. I can almost imagine the Professor teaching Paula about turtles with it, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor pointing things out to Paula while she lies on her stomach, her head propped up on her elbows, her feet dangling in the air, listening attentively to what he has to say. I walk over to the shelf and reach for it, then start skimming through the first couple of pages. Turtles, page one hundred twelve. I sit down in front of the bookshelf and start turning page after page. I’ve almost reached the section about turtles when I notice an envelope stuck in the section on the Palawan Birdwing. Curious, I open it. There is a piece of paper inside, folded in thirds, covered, row after row, in the Professor’s neat handwriting. I unfold it and start reading.

_Dear Raquel,  
If you haven’t already, please look at the postcards I gave you. Every day, I can’t help but wonder if you’ve taken a closer look at them yet. If so, did you decide I’m not worth the trouble? I understand that I caused you a lot of pain and it’s only fair if you don’t ever want to see me again. I probably shouldn't write you this letter, but not a day goes by that I don't think about you... I count the days, and hours, and minutes, wondering if maybe I pushed you too far. I have no right to tell you what to do or how to feel, but I hope to see you again one day._

_Now that I am here and you’re not with me, I realize just how fucked I am without you. In all my days, I’ve never known how much someone’s absence can hurt. We don’t even really know each other, and yet I feel like I’ve lived my whole life so it would lead me to you. It’s a poor excuse, but I never even realized what was happening to me until I was already in way over my head. Never in my life have I felt as strongly about anyone as I feel about you. Still, I wish things could have gone differently. At times, I wish I could turn back time, I wish I could go back to the night we met and undo all the things I did to you. Occasionally, I wonder what would have happened if I’d never met you. Would you be better off if I hadn’t sought you out the first day of the heist? Would you be happier? I certainly know I wouldn’t._

_Sometimes, I almost wish I had never planned the heist, but only almost, because then I never would have met you. I would have passed up on something so wonderful and true I could never have imagined in my wildest dreams. Everything pales in comparison to how you make me feel._

_I meant what I said that morning in bed when we talked about our future. I would gladly spend my life on an island with you, your mother and your daughter. For the longest time, a successful heist was the only dream I had, but you have given me a much better one. Nothing would make me happier than spending my life with you._

I stop and frown. I don’t really know what to make of this. Why is this letter stowed away here in a book? I wonder if the Professor seriously meant to send this to her. And if yes, why hadn’t he? What would make him decide against sending it? Had he set a deadline for himself at which point he was going to remind her of the existence of the postcards? Did she find him before he had a chance to send it?

A thought flickers through my mind. Maybe he had realized the danger that could come from this situation, inviting a police officer here to his little hideout. Maybe he had written this letter in a moment of weakness but then thought better of it. Maybe, on second thought, he had regretted leaving her those postcards. Had he decided it may be better if she didn’t find the postcards after all? No, no, that’s not it, the letter drips with desperation.

 _Please look at the postcards I gave you._ He had left her these when he was still in Madrid, before she had found out who he was. I suppose there was no way for him to reverse what he had done, but he could have moved to a different location. And yet he had stayed right here. He wanted her to find him. _It took me a year to connect the dots._ He _desperately_ wanted her to find him. It must have been a lonely year for the Professor, waiting, every day, to hear from her, to see her again.

What strikes me now that I think about it is how apologetic he is in his letter to her. It makes me wonder what really happened between these two during the heist.

“What do you have there?” the Inspectora’s voice suddenly sounds, almost forcefully tearing me away from my thoughts, reminding me of two days ago when she had caught me going through their things.

“I wasn’t snooping around!” I hurry to say.

The Inspectora grins for a moment but then frowns. “But seriously, what is that?”

“It’s a letter,” I say and hand it to her. “Addressed to you.”

She circles the sofa and approaches the bookshelf in front of which I’m sitting. Her frown deepens. “Where did you get this?”

“I found it in this book,” I explain, gesturing at the book in my lap.

She nods slightly and returns her attention to the letter. I watch her face as her eyes follow the words on the page, line after line, and the emotions dance on her face. A sad smile plays on her lips as she starts reading before her eyes start getting teary. She turns the page and starts smiling, her smile becoming brighter the more she reads, and she moves her hand over her face letting it linger on her cheek as if deeply moved by the Professor’s words.

“When do you think he wrote this?”

“I have no idea,” she replies.

Her gaze remains on the letter for a moment before she seemingly snaps out of it, and she grabs the envelope from my lap, then puts the paper back inside. Yet there is an expression that lingers on her face that I can’t quite read, something distant, almost wistful.

“Do you regret coming here?”

She shakes her head. “Never.”

“Then what took you so long?”

“Well, I had some other stuff to deal with… and I didn’t think to check the postcards. They had seemed so insignificant at the time.”

“So you fall in love, you come _here_ … must be pretty nice, huh?”

“It is…”

“Almost like a dream come true. Must have been an easy choice.”

She turns to me and gives me a sharp look.

“What about this do you think was convenient for me, Tokyo?”

“It seems like a nice thought, to escape to a paradise like this with the man you love? Seems like something every bored housewife dreams about constantly. A romantic fantasy,” I reply.

“Ah,” she sighs, her face lighting up with understanding. “You know what I think your problem is?” she asks, and I ready myself for her next sentence.

“What?” I reply cautiously.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Well, I know _some_ things.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“You’re police,” I respond, and she shoots me a provocative look. “ _Were_ police,” I correct myself.

“I was, yeah, but that’s about the only thing you knew before coming here, wasn’t it?”

I wonder where she is going with this, and I can feel myself relaxing a bit, curiosity replacing the tension that has built inside of me. “I think I could make some other pretty accurate assumptions about you, too.”

“Sure you could, but in reality, you have no idea what my life was like.”

I shoot her an incredulous look. I feel like I have a pretty good feeling what her life was like – comfortably middle-class, probably a suburban home with a nice, white picket fence, a steady job, a boring husband, and 1.5 children playing in the garden… well at least before the heist.

She raises her eyebrows and takes a deep breath, and I raise mine in turn – I’m all ears.

“You know, I did have that middle-class, suburban home you probably imagine I had. I also had a decent job, a child and a husband. The perfect family.”

Feeling validated and somewhat amused, I start to grin.

“Except my ex-husband, Paula’s father, used to hit me.”

The grin is gone from my face in an instant, and I frown and look at her as my train of thought comes to an abrupt halt.

“I eventually took my daughter and left him.”

I don’t know what to say to her.

“And then, I got a restraining order against him. But we have a daughter together, and I couldn’t deprive her of her father entirely, right? But he kept violating that order, too.”

I find myself shaking my head.

“After Sergio left for the Philippines, after the first heist, my ex-husband tried to use the negative press I got for the heist and the fact that I may or may not have helped Sergio and all of you escape against me, and he very nearly won custody of her.”

“Shit.”

“And when I discovered the coordinates on the postcards Sergio had left me, and I found him here in Palawan, I took my mother and my daughter, and I ran. I kidnapped my own child to come here.”

“You didn’t report your ex-husband?”

“Not immediately, no.”

“And after?”

“Well, he’s a police officer, he still is, and apparently, they were more interested in keeping me quiet and casting doubt on my accusations than bringing him to justice.”

She presses her lips together and nods grimly.

“After the heist, I felt like I had wasted twenty years of my life imposing and defending a corrupt system that didn’t work. The system had failed me, too. My ex-husband, to this day, has never faced a single consequence for his actions. It took me a while to come to terms with that.”

I nod, lost in thought.

“It was like Sergio opened my eyes to a whole nother world.”

“So why did you come here?”

“You know why.”

“Yes, but I mean… you changed your whole entire life for him. Left behind everything you knew, just to be with him.”

“It does sound kind of reckless when you say it like that.”

“So?”

“As you were escaping, Colonel Prieto threatened to take my daughter away and award custody of her to my ex-husband if I didn’t give you up.”

“I thought you were the reason we were able to escape?”

“Yes, because I withheld that information for as long as I could.”

“Why did you?”

“Because when something like that happens to you and they actively taunt you with your past, you reevaluate who you put your trust in and what you want to fight for.”

“I’m… I’m sorry that happened to you,” I say earnestly.

“Yeah, me too.”

“So to get back at them you chose to become a criminal?” I tease.

“More or less,” she grins. “In the end, I realized that I had never felt as seen and happy and loved as I did when I was with Sergio. He changed my life in so many ways. But when I moved here, I didn’t change my life for him, I changed it for _me_.”

I shoot her a look. I wonder what really happened between her and the Professor three years ago. The Professor never struck me as an _emotional_ man, and yet he fell for her in less than five days. I can’t deny that they seem to have a connection, there seems to be an understanding between them that runs deeper than anything, but it’s still odd to think of the Professor as someone who willingly entered into a personal relationship. For anyone else, falling in love in a matter of days is already strange enough, but for the Professor…? For him, it must have been like catching lightning in a bottle.

And then, there is the Inspectora. I know the Professor – or I thought I did – but I know next to nothing about her. I can see what about her might have attracted him, but what about her? All I know so far is that he approached her the first day of the heist and that she apparently saved our behinds on day five. In between, she had come inside the Mint and I had paid her a visit in the tent, courtesy of Berlin. She had seemed singularly determined to put an end to the heist then, so she probably hadn’t known Sergio Marquina was the Professor at that point. And yet she had let herself be convinced to join us. Like lightning struck twice.

“Come on, ask me,” she prompts.

“Ask you what?”

“That question you have written all over your face.”

“I’m just trying to figure all of this out.”

“What exactly?”

“All of this,” I say, holding up the letter in my hand. “How did all of this happen? You and the Professor?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything?” I propose, and I try my best not to sound too curious.

“Well,” she begins, eyeing me, “he approached me at the Hanoi on the evening of the first day of the heist and… well, he kept showing up randomly, so I suspected that he had an ulterior motive immediately. I thought that maybe he was a reporter, or something like that. There were quite a lot of them dissecting my personal life because I was the inspector in charge. At one point, I grew so suspicious of Sergio that I slammed him on one of the counters at the Hanoi and frisk-searched him right then and there.”

I smirk. “I would have liked to see that.”

“I bet.” She grins in return. “When I couldn’t find anything suspicious on him, I realized that I had essentially just humiliated myself. In fact, he even knew the barista.”

A part of me is relieved to hear this. As stupid as it had been to approach the inspector in charge of solving the heist, I guess at least he had made sure to take precautions against being discovered?

“Eventually, I started trusting him.”

“Just like that?”

“Well, no… I told him about my life, about my ex-husband and everything connected to that… and he offered to help me before I could even finish telling him about the whole thing.”

“When was that?”

She runs a hand over her forehead and gives me an embarrassed smile. “Not even a day after we met.”

Okay, scratch that. If he had offered to help her not even a day after helping her, he had probably already abandoned many of his precautions by then. Same goes for her. I guess they were made for each other.

I can almost see the scene in front of me now, and suddenly, the idea of the Professor and the Inspectora doesn’t seem so odd to me anymore. A person, beaten down by the system, just like the rest of us. Of course he had taken to her.

“Then, the next day, I asked him on a date.”

I give her an incredulous look. “You move fast, lady.”

“Well, technically, it was my mother’s idea.”

“Runs in the family, then?”

She grins.

“It was my first date in eight years after the whole thing with my ex-husband… so it was all kinds of terrifying.”

“So how did it go?”

“Well,” she says, stretching the word a little, “uhm, I made him take me to his hangar at gunpoint.”

I scoff, “Sorry?”

“Remember that bug you planted in sub-inspector Rubio’s glasses?”

I nod.

“Well, I suspected that he was the mole and we had a very ugly confrontation. He told me that I was making a mistake trusting Sergio. That he had conducted some investigation of his own and that Sergio was suspicious.” She grimaces. “I had been wrong about the last guy I was in a relationship with, so why not this one, too?”

Suddenly, I remember what the Professor told me on my first night here. _I screwed her over first._ A twinge of unease mixes into my curiosity. The Inspectora had suspected him twice and for good reason.

“Shit.”

“When I got there, it all looked amazing, and… well, you already know I move fast.”

“You and the Professor… slept together?”

“Yes, and it was wonderful.” A hint of dreamy expression appears on her face.

“I’m sorry, but we’re talking about the same person here, right? The Professor?”

Her face takes on a mischievous look. “Uh-huh.”

I grin.

“And then what happened?”

“Well, the day after, I asked him to stay overnight again–“

“Inspectora!” I interrupt her, playfully reprimanding her, and she starts laughing.

“And the next morning, we had that conversation he’s referring to in his letter. He offered to take my mother, my daughter and me to some island in the Caribbean. I was so overwhelmed by that… that he’d just drop everything just like that to be with me. Later that day, he gave me the postcards.” She sighs. “Not a minute before I found out that he is the Professor.”

I can’t help but feel bad for her.

“When did he give you the postcards?”

“The day before you escaped.”

I frown. Was it possible she changed her opinion in a matter of a day, maybe even less than that?

“The Professor said something about you letting him walk away without shooting him?”

“Yeah, I just couldn’t get myself to do it.”

“Not even in the leg? You could have shot him in the leg a little.”

She snorts.

“Not even that,” she muses. “I was already so in love with him then, despite everything.”

She sighs. “But after that, I still wanted nothing more than to turn him in, and, because the police had suspended me, I ended tracking him down myself. I thought I was being smart, but in the end, I ended up chained to the ceiling.”

“How come you saved us then?”

“It was something he said to me when I was chained up. He told me that even if the heist went well, he’d be screwed… because he wouldn’t see me again.” She smiles sadly. “It’s silly, but for some reason that convinced me that not everything had been a lie.”

“That’s not silly.”

“Thanks.”

I look at her from the side, and suddenly I can almost feel how much my view of her has changed. The image I had of her has formed cracks, and now the version of her I had curated for so long in my mind is flaking off to reveal a more accurate picture.

“You don’t have any remaining resentment against the Professor?”

“No. None at all.”

Almost despite myself, I find myself believing her. Still, one thought remains…

“How do I know you won’t sell us out when things get tough?”

She looks at me and I can’t quite read the expression on her face.

“I won’t.”

“How can I be sure about that?”

“I guess you can’t.”

“Sorry, but that’s not good enough.”

“Not _good enough_?” She raises her eyebrows. “You do remember you gave up Sergio’s name in a matter of _hours_ to save your own ass, right?”

I can feel myself go red. “I don’t remember that,” I lie.

“Oh, I think you do,” she says, pursing her lips and cocking her head. Then, she breaks into a smile before returning to a more somber expression. “Look, no one can predict what will happen when you’re in a powerless position like that. Just know that I’d never willingly sell Sergio out.”

“What about me?”

“Sorry?”

“You’d never sell the Professor out… but what about me? What about the rest of the gang?”

She grins. “You’re the closest thing he has to an extended family. So… consider yourself adopted.”

* * *

After all of this, I decide to go out to the beach for a swim. I change into my bikini, grab a towel from the bathroom and head over to the kitchen to grab a snack. As I enter the room, I hear voices echoing into the kitchen from the open window.

When I glance out of it, I see the Inspectora and her mother are sitting at a table on the patio only a short distance away from the house.

“It’s obvious you have to do this,” Mariví says, sending her daughter a warm smile and taking her hand into her own.

“It is?”

“You know you can’t just stay here happily in this place forever. You need to go out there and make things right, make a change. That has always been you.”

The Inspectora takes a deep breath.

“You never liked the toll my work took on me.”

“That’s true, yes, but it gave you a purpose, didn’t it?”

The Inspectora gives her mother a tired look.

“ _Hija_ , I can see you’re struggling with this,” she says, rubbing the Inspectora’s shoulder. “But you need to do what makes you happy.”

She stays silent, but I can almost imagine her face, her brows furrowed and her lips pressed together.

“You need adventure in your life.”

Once more, the Inspectora sighs. I can’t imagine this is an easy decision for her.

I tear myself away from their conversation, grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and head outside. I walk past where they sit on the patio and out to the beach. The sky is blue, not a cloud in sight, and in this heat, swimming in the ocean is a welcome way to cool off.

With some amusement, I notice the Professor and Paula crouched in the wet sand in the distance. I move closer, spreading my towel close enough to be within earshot. Watching them, I almost forget the heat. He doesn’t look entirely comfortable hovering squatted over the sandy ground, but he listens attentively as Paula instructs him on how to construct the castle.

“You have to fill up the pointy tower mold with sand. All the way to the top.”

He grabs the mold and starts filling it up, his hands digging into the sand after a moment of apprehension.

“Make sure you get wet sand, that way it’ll hold the best,” Paula directs.

Complying with her order, he reaches around him to where the sand is wettest. A moment later, I see him move his hand to flick his glasses back up his nose, but he halts, moments before his hand reaches its destination and he looks at the sand covering it in dismay. He hesitates for a moment, then proceeds to try to wipe his hands on his pants. Apparently to no overwhelming success. Instead, he turns his hand and pushes his glasses back up with his wrist.

In a moment, he is back to playing with Paula. There is something about the way he interacts with her, a warm expression on his face as he lets her teach him how to build a sandcastle, but deep in thought whenever she isn’t looking. Something about it doesn’t sit quite right with me. I wonder what preoccupies his mind… is it because, like me, he is afraid for what will happen to Paula after this heist? He must be.

But then she beams up at him again and his smile returns. Comfortable and awkward at once, he continues piling sand into his mold. He seems to enjoy Paula’s company, smiling at her and encouraging her, but judging from the way he touches the sand and apprehensively eyes the beach around him, the prospect of sand everywhere on his body doesn’t seem to thrill him. Still, he carefully sits down in the sand, trying his utmost to appear at ease.

I grin. In the classroom in front of a bunch of hardened criminals, the Professor is unshakable, but Sergio in the wild here with Paula seems utterly out of place. It’s priceless.

Paula, too, starts giggling.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says and smiles back at her. Suddenly, a wave washes up against the shore all the way to where they are sitting, and the Professor is drenched up to his knees. He gets up hastily, and I swear I can almost hear the Professor cursing inwardly as he looks at his wet pants, the water dripping from the hemline.

He tries to wring out his pants, but the moisture makes the sand on his hands and the sand all around him stick to his clothes. For a moment, he seems to consider his options. I watch with curiosity as he looks at the beach, down himself, and then at Paula. A moment later, his frown breaks into a smile and he gets down on his knees sinking his hands into the sand in front of him again.

“You know what we should do?” he asks.

“What?”

“We should build this further away from the water. Otherwise, in half an hour the tide is going to wash all of this away.”

Paula nods and she hastens to collect all of her utensils and moves further up.

“Like this?”

“Yes, perfect!”

“We need a strong base and we have to make sure to reinforce the walls of our castle. Make them as solid and sturdy as we can so the water can’t destroy our castle. What do you think?”

When he looks at her again, Paula’s smile is so bright and so excited, the Professor gets right back to work.

After they’ve built the base, Paula fills her mold up to the brim, packing the sand nice and tight. Next, she turns the thing on its head and when she lifts the mold, a crisp, decent-sized tower with little embrasures at the top emerges. “Your turn.”

He turns his own mold around, delicately lifting it to reveal his tower. To his relief and Paula’s delight, the tower stands upright, a little distance away from Paula’s, just as neat and perfect as hers. Soon, they have built a couple of little towers around them.

“Let’s build the walls now!”

“Great thinking, Paula. Let’s see, maybe we can get some shells and some small stones to shield the castle from the water, as well.”

They keep building the castle for a while and when they are done with the main frame, the Professor gets up to look at the build from a distance. He’s covered in sand now, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all.

Before he can prepare himself, Paula gets up, too, and throws her arms around his middle. He seems surprised for a moment, but then his arms find their way around her small frame and he holds her close. And just then, that thoughtful look appears on his face again. Only for a moment I see it flicker across his face. Then, he’s back to reveling in Paula’s hug.

I hear movement behind me, and, as I turn around, I catch the Inspectora standing on the patio, watching the scene with a blissful expression on her face. Her features seem relaxed, her mouth in a slight smile, her eyes sparkling. There is a radiance that emanates from her. I don’t know how else to describe it.

Mariví joins her and, arm in arm, they start walking towards the ocean.

But as I keep watching Paula and the Professor playing in the sand, Mariví and the Inspectora walking out to them, I realize that I was wrong before. The Professor didn’t stumble into their lives, they stumbled into each other’s. The four of them have become enmeshed. They are a family. It’s difficult to accept, but the Professor has his own entanglements now. I realize with a sinking feeling that from now on, he will always put his family first, and I will have to accept that because if I had found a love like that, I would probably do the same.

* * *

In the evening, I’m walking back to my room from the bathroom, and, from their bedroom, through the ajar door, I can hear the Inspectora and the Professor arguing.

“What do you mean I can’t come?”

“It’s a suicide mission. One wrong step and we might never see each other again. Why risk it?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a delicate thing, this heist. It needs to be executed with the utmost precision.”

“I understand that.”

“No, I am not sure you do.”

“We talked about this a bunch of times. I _know_ there is a risk involved. I told you so just the other day!”

“Yes, but it’s different now.”

“Why? How?”

“Because I’ve reevaluated the advantages and disadvantages of this operation.”

“And?”

“It’s better if you stay here.”

“Why? What is this all about?”

“I need you to be safe, Raquel,” the Professor says.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know that, but I want you to stay here with your family.”

“That is not your decision.”

“It kind of is.”

“So you’re saying you need me to stay here so you don’t have to worry about the heist and me at the same time.”

“Yes,” he breathes, sounding relieved.

“So… I am just supposed to sit here and wait for you, not knowing when or _if_ you come home?” Her voice starts shaking.

“Raquel, I–“

“No,” she interrupts him. “The answer is no. I am not staying here.”

“What if they catch you? And torture you like they are torturing Rio? I can’t lose you, Raquel,” he says quietly.

I can hear her take a breath before she continues. “Sergio, I love you. And I can’t just stay here and sit idly by and not hear from you for _months_ until this is over. Let me have a look at these plans again, we can figure something out.”

A moment of silence follows.

“Really?” she says, hurt evident in her voice. “You’re not going to let me look at the plans anymore?”

“I’ve made my decision, Raquel.”

“You can’t just exclude me like that.”

Another pause.

“Then I better leave, it’s clear you don’t want me here.”

“Raquel,” he starts, his voice pleading.

“No, it’s fine, I need some air.”

And with that she is out the door. When she sees me in the hallway, she freezes for a split second, then brushes past me and walks out to the patio.

I cast a careful look at the room out of which she has just stormed, and it sounds like someone’s fist is hitting wood but otherwise, it stays quiet.

The Inspectora is now sitting in the sand a couple of meters from the patio, and I don’t know what it is that suddenly compels me to go to her, but I do.

“Hey.”

She only glances at me.

“How much did you hear?” she finally says.

“Enough,” I reply. “And you weren’t exactly quiet either,” I add.

She frowns and nods. Then, she looks at me.

“Do you think he’s right?”

“Is that a trick question?”

She gives me a tired smile and shakes her head.

“No. But maybe I’ve been deluding myself.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I know the risks, Sergio and I discussed them in depth. It’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing. I know how this might end. I’m still choosing to do it. But a part of me thinks that maybe he is right, and I should stay here. I have almost no practical experience _breaking_ the law.”

“Well… why don’t you just stay here safely?”

She shakes her head slightly. “I can’t do that. I can’t stay here and just wait until I finally hear from him, knowing that if they arrest him or _worse_ , I will learn about that on the news. Or not at all.”

She sucks in a breath, and I nod.

“You don’t understand how much I can’t do that.”

I think about the love of my life and I think about Rio. I don’t think I could abandon either one of them like that.

“Not only that, but I am _valuable_ to the team. I have years and years of experience with police procedures.”

“Doesn’t he, too?”

She sighs, “Of course he does. But not in the way that I do. I’ve lived these procedures, I know them in my sleep, and I know the people behind it.”

“Why do you wanna fight them so desperately though? This is technically not your fight.”

She sighs. “When you’re a police officer for twenty years, you learn to put people in boxes. That’s not how life works though. People are not inherently good or bad, they make right and wrong choices. It’s not even that simple either. What if you make the morally right choice, but it still ends up doing more harm than the alternative? What if your actions are morally wrong, but that action exposes a faulty system?”

Yesterday, it had shocked me then how aware Paula was of the ambiguities of good and bad. _You don’t always see that from the outside. Some people are bad even if they don’t seem like they are. And some people are good even though they do bad things._ It had shocked me even more that the Inspectora had been the one to teach her that. But now she had laid it out for me so clearly and in her own words.

“The system the police operate with doesn’t allow for any such grey areas,” she continues. “Just because a system is just, doesn’t mean it’s fair. I joined the police to help people… and had always assumed we were on the right side. But I kept putting some people behind bars while others who were liberally abusing their power and manipulating the system in their favor remain free.”

I nod. I can’t help but think that she reminds me of someone else I know when she says these things. Perhaps a twinge more realistic.

“It’s about who holds the power.”

I remember exactly what I told her when I was in that tent with her three years ago. _You and I are alike. It isn’t easy being a woman in the police force. The same way it isn’t in a gang of robbers._ It must have been tough standing her ground, getting shit on by her male colleagues. And it’s not like she could have just played Russian Roulette with them either. I also think about what she told me earlier today, how her ex-husband had never faced any consequences for his actions.

We sit outside a little longer. As she tells me more and more about her past, her present, and her convictions, I find myself inwardly shaking my head in disbelief at how wrong I was about her.

Not only had she realized the error in the system she herself had helped reinforce and switched sides, freely and voluntarily, after, but she had uprooted her whole life to do that. She had come here, brought her daughter and her mother here, to live with a _criminal_ like myself. Maybe she could have stayed in Spain, given press conferences or interviews about her changed views, or tried to change the system from within. But instead, she’s here, willing to fight and actually _upset_ the Professor won’t let her.

After a while, however, I can feel the strain of the day getting to me.

“I’m gonna go back inside,” I say.

“You go,” she says quietly. “I’ll stay here for a little while longer. I need a minute.”

I give her a quick nod and get up.

“But hey,” she calls out to me, and I stop. “Thanks for listening.”

I return her smile. “No problem.”

I head back inside and I’m ready to go to bed, when, thinking better of it, I walk straight past my bedroom and knock on the last door at the end of the hallway where a bit of light is visible from inside where the door meets the ground – the Professor and the Inspectora’s bedroom.

I knock, but I don’t wait for him to answer, and I enter without a second thought.

The Professor is already in bed, immersed in a book on his lap, and he frantically looks up when I burst into the room.

“Why did you take Lisbon off the plan?”

“Tokyo, what are you doing here?” he asks, then adds, “Where is Raquel?”

“She’s on the patio, and she is mad.”

At my words, he seems agitated, straightening up in his bed.

“Well, she will get over it.”

“Yeah, or you could just get over yourself.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I heard what you said to her, and, frankly, you’re wrong.”

“Is this gonna be one of those conversations like the one we had when I took Rio off the team?” he asks.

“Well, I’m not sleeping with her, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He laughs nervously. “No, she wouldn’t go for someone like you.”

“Are you sure about that?” I ask, cocking my head. “I’m sure she’s kissed a girl before.”

He shifts uncomfortably, not knowing where to look. “What do you want, Tokyo?” he asks, his voice a little strained.

“Why did you take Raquel off the team? You can’t tell me she’s not prepared.”

He folds back the blanket and swings his feet down the side of the bed, sitting up, his feet firmly on the ground now.

“Because I had to. I thought _you_ of all people would be glad about that.”

“You agree that she’s gonna betray us, then?” I ask provocatively.

“No. _God_ , no.”

“Good. Because I want her on the team.”

He looks at me, baffled.

He gets up from the bed and starts pacing back and forth. “Two days ago you were telling me that I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life, that I was only thinking with my… with my _fly_ , was that it?”

I smirk. “Well, let’s say I changed my mind.”

“I don’t understand why you’re suddenly so desperate to have her join us,” he maintains, his voice tense.

“And I don’t understand why you don’t,” I shoot back.

He stops pacing and considers me for a moment, and I see something in him breaking. He takes a deep breath.

“I need her to be safe.”

“This is about what I said this morning, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t answer.

“This is about me being irresponsible and not doing the sensible thing?”

He shifts guiltily.

“It is, right?”

“I just need to know that she is safe. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her.”

“So your solution is to deny her the same?”

“That... that’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is this about?” I inquire, raising my eyebrows.

“I’m the one that keeps putting her in danger. She wouldn’t even be involved in this if it wasn’t for me.”

“She came here for you. _She_ made that choice.”

“I never asked her to come.”

I think about the letter I found earlier. He had desperately wanted her to come.

“No, you didn’t. But you wanted to.”

“Yes,” he breathes.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because it’s an impossible ask. She already paid such a high price.”

“She knew that, and she wanted to do it, and so she made that choice. And now she’s making a choice again. To fight by your side and be right there with you.”

“But she’s making her decisions blinded by her love for me,” he insists.

“Oh, and you are not?” I scoff.

“The heist can’t be influenced by feelings. We can’t risk everything based on some sentimental whim,” he says stubbornly.

“Look at you,” I muse and smirk.

“What about me?” he asks, flustered and perplexed.

“You’ve been telling me this whole time how it’s better if she stays here… yet you haven’t given me a single reason that is not influenced by your feelings for her. In fact, she has given me more rational reasons for why she should be a part of this heist. Everything you’ve told me about her since I got here has been influenced by your feelings for her. I tried to snap you out of it, I did. But you’re adamant about her. You trust her because you love her.”

“She might regret all of this sooner or later, and I’d rather she didn’t.”

“Then let her make her own choices.”

“I can’t have her risk everything for me again.”

“So your solution is to have her stay here and possibly lose everything? She could lose you. That’s what she’s faced with. If she comes with you, then at least she will have tried.”

He looks at me for a long time.

“You’re right. Raquel is right.”

“Glad I could help,” I reply, grinning, and I stand up.

As if on cue, I can suddenly hear footsteps approaching the door.

A moment later, the door opens fully, and the Inspectora enters the room. When she sees me, she looks at me, surprised, but then marches on, brushing past the Professor on her way into the room. When she is almost past him, he catches her wrist and pulls her towards him, sending her an apologetic, longing look. I can see her resolve soften and for a moment, the two just look at each other, exchanging glances, while the Professor readies himself to explain himself to her.

I can practically sense the longing for reconciliation between them. The way they look at each other, words unspoken, makes me feel wildly out of place here.

“So… uhm… I’ll go now,” I mumble, hurrying to the door and closing it behind me.

As I walk back to my room, I feel oddly satisfied with myself. And then I realize, my forehead in a frown and my lips curved into a grin, that I’ve just argued against the Professor _in favor_ of the Inspectora… _Lisbon_.

What a day this has been.


	5. Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISEEEEE!!!
> 
> Is anyone still waiting for an update? :D I want to thank those who are (still) reading this story for your patience with me. It's taken me forever, but here it finally is: chapter five!  
> 11k on 11/11 (yes, I waited until midnight to post it)!
> 
> If you like this chapter, please let me know - leave me a comment or a kudos if you can. :) 
> 
> And oh man, for the creation of this chapter I have a whole catalog of people to thank...
> 
> First and foremost, I have to thank Loreak for discussing everything, especially the second half of this chapter, to death with me. Her help was instrumental in developing this chapter and I couldn't have done it without her! ♥️ She provided me with several ideas, and we spent literal days discussing what Paula knows and all of that; we emailed entire essays of what should happen back and forth - and if you wanna thank anyone (or complain to anyone), please direct your messages to her. :P (Just kidding, she's amazing!)
> 
> Second, I wanna thank MJ0310 for her support with the game scene. Turns out finding words to fit what you wanna do with a scene like that is pretty hard, I'm glad I had her to help me! :)
> 
> Third, I have to thank my friend AlwaysGarrix for her support and for trying to come up with solutions for this chapter with me.
> 
> Fourth, I have to thank Corny_Cornflakes for her suggestions and for being there for me when I had a question or needed her opinion on something.
> 
> And last (but never least), as always, I have to thank my wonderful friend Evendale who keeps encouraging me to write, who offered me emotional support so many times these last couple of months (and always), and who is just the best. I'm so blessed to have her in my life! ♥️ 
> 
> And now I'm finally gonna let you read the new chapter. I hope you enjoy!

I wake up to the sounds of birds chirping outside my window. I just lie there for a moment, taking in the sounds, the waves washing up against the shore in the distance, the rustling of the palm trees, and the gentle clinking of the windchimes in the breeze. I turn and press my face deeper into my pillow before I stretch my arms and legs. It’s the first night I’ve really slept since I’ve gotten here, and, propping myself up on my elbow, I glance at the clock on my nightstand, and I realize that I’ve just missed breakfast.

I let myself fall back on my pillow with a sigh. A moment later, the memories of the day before come rushing back, and I run a hand over my forehead. I can’t help but smirk and shake my head.

These last couple of days have been _wild_. There are so many things I know now that I never even knew – no – that I never even considered possible. I let out an amused chuckle.

Did I really argue in favor of the Inspectora… I mean _Lisbon_ … joining the team? Had I actually found myself sympathizing with her when she had told me about her past? And then again when she had told me about how the Professor had abused her trust?

I sit up, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and rub my eyes. I should probably take a shower before I do anything else. Despite the ceiling fan whirring tirelessly over my head, the heat is stagnant and my shirt is already clinging to my skin.

I sit there for a moment before I try to shake off my bemusement. Perhaps all this shouldn’t surprise me so much. Just the other day I had thought that I might have liked her had we met under different circumstances. And now it seems that we have. I mean, she is hardly the same person… then again, I hardly knew her then.

Three years ago in that tent, I had told her that we’re alike. It had been an empty phrase then, based on superficial observations. Two women in environments dominated by men. I hadn’t given it that much thought at the time, and until yesterday, I had almost forgotten about the whole thing. But what Lisbon told me yesterday had struck a chord with me. Thinking about it now, I realize that I had had a feeling that that Prieto was an unpleasant character, and so persistent in his unpleasantness… letting me sit there in front of him in my underwear, the way he watched me, the comments he had made. But thinking about it now, I realize that he hadn’t just acted like that towards me, _a_ _criminal_ , but towards Lisbon as well. And for that guy to use her daughter as leverage against her, taunting her with the abuse she had suffered at her ex-husband’s hands, threatening to take her daughter away from her and give Paula to a person like that… what a piece of shit. I realize now that even though I had no idea that the violence she had suffered at the hands of her own people had run so deep, the few moments I had been in that tent, however, I had _felt_ it.

It seems so long ago now. An eternity.

And the Professor and Lisbon, the two of them, had been a thing from the beginning. _That_ long. He had approached her on the first day of the heist. So many aspects of this story seem unlikely, almost impossible, to me, and yet it happened – it now seems ridiculous to think otherwise. And so here I am, trying to piece everything together…

When did the Professor fall in love? Had it been instantly? Had it happened when she had told him her story? When they went on their date? When they had spent the night together? What about her?

And then I remember that line from his letter: _I never even realized what was happening to me until I was already in way over my head._ The Professor had fallen for her without even knowing. It seems fitting. He had never seemed to me like someone who was particularly aware of certain things. Maybe the feeling had crept up on him when he had least expected it. After all, who could have known that two people from opposing sides would end up falling in love in the middle of a heist? Certainly not the Professor with all his talk about no personal relationships.

But then again, the “no personal relationships” rule had failed so spectacularly even before the heist had really begun. Although, to be fair, it’s not like I had even tried to stick to it.

I run a hand over my forehead. The room seems to get hotter by the minute, and so I finally get up and grab a towel before I exit my room. The house is quiet right now, but I can faintly hear Paula’s voice outside. I make my way over to the bathroom and close the door behind me. When I turn around, I see their toothbrushes, neatly arranged in two glasses on a shelf, four towels hanging on the wall, and a bunch of other things strewn around, variously Paula’s, Marivi’s, Lisbon’s, and the Professor’s.

I grin. I suppose the Professor had never thought that this would happen to him. He was and is an idealist. It’s almost like he was convinced that if he said so and the others tried hard enough, there wouldn’t be any such personal relationships. It’s like he hadn’t wanted to see it, hadn’t wanted to entertain the possibility that there might be a force stronger than his willpower in this world. A part of me is convinced he thought love’s a choice. And yet here we are, three years and a whole family later.

Setting my towel down on the edge of the sink, I look at myself in the mirror and suddenly something occurs to me. I recognize now that I am not unlike him in that regard. When I had gotten here, I had stubbornly ignored all the signs, held on to my beliefs, and interpreted everything Lisbon had done accordingly. Incredible what you don’t see when you choose not to see it.

Now, here, in Palawan, _neither_ of them seems recognizable to me. Some of the changes are more obvious than others, but I realize now how much they _both_ have changed.

I had expected to finally discover the Professor I knew under layers and layers of Lisbon’s influence. There is no denying he has changed… but, at the same time, it’s still him. Just… different. He still has that same awkwardness to him, the same dedication to detail. But instead, he seems happier, more alive here than I have ever seen him before. More human, too.

Seeing the Professor play in the sand with Paula, the way he smiles when he is with Lisbon, the way he touches her and responds to her touch. His ease when he is with her. The way he had insisted on her loyalty, that blind trust. And, finally, the irrationality of feelings he had exhibited so clearly yesterday. His priorities have shifted.

I tear myself away from my thoughts for a moment to undress and step into the shower. I turn on the water, letting the cool water wash away the heat. The water feels so nice against my skin, and for a moment, I just let the water run over my head, and I forget everything else. But before long, as I look at the array of shampoo bottles in front of me, my thoughts return to the present again. Some generic men’s body wash, a bottle of peach shampoo in a colorful bottle, and some nice-looking bottles that smell like jasmine and coconut. Probably Lisbon’s. Or maybe Mariví’s?

Lisbon. I don’t even know where to begin with her, to be honest. It’s like she is an entirely different person now, but then again, I never really knew her at all.

Now that I know what happened, little by little, a lot of things are starting to click into place. And a lot of things that I feel I should have noticed had I not been too stubborn to notice, too. They have lived here, together, for two years now. The Professor knows Lisbon, and she knows him better and – pun intended – more intimately than I ever could. What are the five months we spent in Toledo compared to those two years? And yet, when I had reentered their lives, I had thought that I could somehow convince him that she was an intruder when, in reality, the intruder had been _me_.

In the two years I’d spent on that island in Panama with Rio, the Professor and I hadn’t talked once. And yet, I had somehow still thought it my right to tell him how to live his life. I thought that I knew better than him. But… he _knows_ her, he truly knows her.

 _If you can’t trust her, then trust me_. It’s taken me days to grasp the importance of what the Professor had told me on my very first day here. He had told me all along, but I suppose I had to learn for myself.

* * *

As I dig my spoon into my breakfast bowl, seated at the kitchen table, the Professor enters the room.

“Good morning, Tokyo,” he greets me and fills a glass with water. There is something apprehensive about his tone when he addresses me.

“Is everything okay?”

He hesitates for a moment, then says, “Paula and Mariví are going to leave soon.”

I nod knowingly. Of course… and now I realize I had seen that same look on his face yesterday, too. I watch him as he looks past me through the window behind me. When I turn, I can see Paula from where I’m sitting, swaying on a swing by the beach, Lisbon pushing the swing higher and higher at Paula’s command, Mariví and Mahalia sitting on the hammock nearby.

At first, I smile at the sight, but then the look on the Professor’s face pulls me back into the moment.

“Where are you sending them?”

When I speak, he recomposes himself, breaking away from the scene.

“To a secure location. Somewhere they can’t be traced.”

“You care about them a lot, don’t you?”

He gives me a look.

“Paula is a wonderful kid.”

He nods, and a fleeting smile appears on his lips. “Yeah, she is.”

“She’s lucky to have you.”

“No, I’m the lucky one,” he says quietly, looking down at the glass in his hands, then sets it down.

And like yesterday when I observed the Professor and Paula at the beach together, it strikes me how much he has taken to Paula. He adores that kid.

A moment later, I see Lisbon enter the room, nodding at me in greeting. She crosses the room and walks over to the Professor, sliding her hand into his, looking up at him with a warm smile. Then, she sends me a look. I suppose that means they have made up. I smile back at her, before I busy myself with my food once more, suddenly a little uncomfortable again with the idea that I so vehemently sided with her last night.

When I look up again, the Professor is smiling back at her, pulling her in for a hug against his chest, kissing her hair. Yup, they have definitely made up. Once they break apart, Lisbon lightly presses her lips to his and then gently pushes him away, smiling, motioning for him to leave.

“Go,” she says softly, “maybe you can get some more work done before lunch. I’m going to join you in a bit.”

He nods, bending his head to kiss her once more before he leaves, taking his glass with him.

Raquel watches him exit the room, with something of a silly smile on her face. Then, she turns to me, and I can see her trying to suppress a grin.

She approaches the table and looks at me, amused.

“So… uhm… Sergio told me you barged into our bedroom last night and _demanded_ that I be on the team.”

“Yeah, I might have done that,” I mumble.

“Why?”

“No reason,” I say evasively.

She raises her eyebrows, grinning at me.

“Well, he was being stupid, and somebody had to tell him.”

“You didn’t have to do that, though.”

“I kind of feel like I had to.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “Well, this whole thing is happening because of me, so the least I can do is not make it worse.”

She looks at me with a sympathetic expression on her face.

“You don’t have to bear all the blame yourself.”

I give her a tired look.

“I’m serious, Tokyo,” she insists. “Rio is an adult. He can make his own decisions, and he did. He bought those satellite phones against Sergio’s direct orders. He gave one to you. _He_ called _you_.”

I shrug. “I should have refused the phone.”

“I’m not saying you’re blameless.”

“I could have asked him to come with me. All I really needed was a change of scenery.”

“He could have asked to come with you. He could have tried to move on.”

I shake my head. “That’s not how Rio is. He loves me… and… if he hadn’t been caught, two, three, five years down the line, he’d still be waiting for me on that island.”

I press my lips together. I should have ended this relationship earlier. I knew it wouldn’t end well and yet I had stayed with him because I guess it had been nice to be with him, hadn’t it?

“I feel like I used him,” I say quietly.

“Did you?”

There is a challenge in her question, and suddenly, I am not quite sure how to respond to that. Had I used Rio? We had lived together on an island for three years, and then one day, I just decided that I had had enough of living in paradise with him. Had I wanted to leave him behind or the island? Maybe both?

It’s nice to be with someone who is completely enamored with you. Had I liked being loved like that, or had I liked him? I know that I don’t love Rio the same way he loves me. He’s young. Naïve. I was his first serious girlfriend. Whenever he looked at me, I could practically see the rose-colored glasses on his nose. It wasn’t like that for me.

Lisbon notices my silence and says, “I don’t think you did.”

“No offense, but you don’t know me.”

Lisbon chuckles and looks at me. “You’re right, I don’t really know you. But I know about you.”

I frown at her.

“And I noticed a couple of things about you when you got here,” she says and sits down next to me.

I let out a weak chuckle. “Like what?”

“You don’t mess around. You’re very upfront about how you feel about things. You don’t like to sit with your feelings, and you’re honest about that. You say what you mean, and you mean what you say.”

I give her a curious look. I have to admit that does sound a lot like me.

“And?” I ask. Time and time again, I had told him that I wasn’t good for him, and time and time again, he had convinced me that it didn’t matter. “Without me, he wouldn’t have been in this situation. I should have ended it sooner. Then maybe he’d be happy some other place.”

“We all do crazy things when we love someone. Like urging one of the most wanted criminals hiding in Palawan to come up with another scheme to get Rio back,” she grins at me. “I think you still love Rio.”

She’s right. I do love him.

She seems to think for a moment, then says: “You defended my choice to join this heist to Sergio yesterday.”

“That’s different,” I interject.

“Yes, it’s an entirely different scenario, but the sentiment remains the same. This is what I’m choosing to do, and Rio also chose to do what he did.”

I have to admit, this does sound somewhat like the conversation I had with the Professor last night. _She’s making her decisions blinded by her love for me._ The same thing I had just accused Rio of. I kinda hate that Lisbon’s right.

“You know,” Lisbon says, “there are always two people in a relationship. And it’s not either of those people’s job to be fully responsible for the other person. Yes, you could have done some things differently, but Rio is not some child you have to take care of.”

And then, as if on cue, I can hear my own words echoing through my head: _let her make her own choices._ I suppose I should give Rio the same courtesy. I knew we wanted different things, and I knew this wouldn’t end well. And he knew, too. He had known I would leave, after all, hadn’t he? Even back in the Mint he had known. He had said: ‘I know you’ll leave me. Why not wait a little longer? Does it have to be now?’ And when I told him I’d leave the island, he had already known. In fact, he had completed my sentence before I could say the words.

“Thank you for saying all those things.”

“You’re welcome,” she says with a half-smile, then adds, “and thank you for setting Sergio straight.”

“You’re welcome… I guess.”

She sends me a quick smile, and then something mischievous sneaks into her expression.

“Tokyo…” she says, grinning broadly, “does that mean you care about me now?”

“Don’t get any ideas,” I reply, mirroring her grin.

* * *

When I step out onto the beach later, the sky is clouded over, and the air feels a little cooler now.

I see Lisbon and the Professor by the water, lying down, their faces towards the sky. For a moment, I wonder what they’re doing there, lying there almost motionless by the water. It’s too clouded for them to be sunbathing… plus, they’re fully dressed. Are they asleep?

But then, something to my right distracts me: the sandcastle the Professor and Paula had built yesterday. I’m surprised it’s still standing. Well, at least partially. The towers’ crowns have started to crumble and one of the walls has collapsed. It looks like an animal tried to sit on it, and the wall collapsed under its weight, little footprints leading to and away from the castle. But it’s still standing nonetheless.

For a moment, I just stand there, looking at it. It’s just a stupid sandcastle, why am I getting emotional over this? Still, I squat down next to it and press the sand back into the hole in the wall. I keep looking at it for a moment, lost in thought, until I eventually tear myself away from the sight.

As I continue my way down to the water, I notice the Professor and Lisbon indeed have their eyes closed. Their chests are rising and falling rhythmically. I can’t help but look at them. This is so weird! The way they lie parallel to each other, their arms draped over their stomachs, hands folded, their legs stretched out, their feet turned slightly outward, as if they’re participating in some sort of synchronized sleeping. I’m so distracted by this scene that I don’t notice a depression in the sand right in front of me, and I almost fall.

“Shit.”

When I look up, the Professor and Lisbon are looking at me, the Professor propped up on his elbow behind Lisbon, a look of mild annoyance on his face. Maybe I hadn’t cursed as quietly as I thought.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’m just gonna go. You can go back to sleep now.”

I can see Lisbon chuckling quietly at my comment, and I grin.

“Why don’t you come join us?” the Professor asks, sitting up.

“Join you doing what exactly?”

“We’re meditating.”

“Does this seem like something I’d be good at to you?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

I see Lisbon beside him biting back a smirk.

“Well… I suppose not, but it’s not something to be good at anyway. Give it a try. You might be surprised,” he explains. “Meditation has a lot of health benefits: it can reduce stress and anxiety, improve your sleep, enhance self-awareness–“

“Fine. I’ll try it.”

“Alright, since this is your first time, I’m going to guide you through it.”

I grimace. “Brilliant. I can’t wait.”

I see Lisbon smirking, and she sits up as well.

“So what do I do?”

“Find a comfortable position. You can sit or lie down, whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

I demonstratively sit down in front of them, crossing my legs. “Okay, I’m seated. Now what?”

“Now allow yourself to settle into a comfortable position… and take a few deep breaths and slowly close your eyes as you do so.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head but do as I’m told.

“Now focus all of your attention on your breathing as you inhale deeply through your nose… and out through your mouth…”

I follow the rhythm he indicates, inhaling and exhaling whenever he says.

“Continue to breathe in and out, feeling the air fill up your lungs more deeply with every breath you take, and your diaphragm expanding and contracting, your chest rising and falling as you do. Notice your legs get heavier and heavier. Your arms, too, are getting heavier and heavier.”

But my legs don’t feel heavier. Neither do my arms. It’s just weird.

“Pay close attention to your body, the way your legs connect to the ground beneath you, the way your hands rest on your thighs. And just listen to your body for a while.”

As soon as I direct my attention to my body, I immediately feel uncomfortable again. I can feel my toes against each other, my knee pressing down on them. Yet when I try to move them to a more comfortable position, the feeling intensifies.

This is stupid.

I can feel myself getting impatient already.

Now what?

Why am I even doing this? What is this even supposed to do? Isn’t the general idea that meditation should relax you? Instead, this stillness drives me mad. The silence around me gives voice to the noise inside my head.

I think about how I’ve gotten here. Not this moment _specifically_ , meditating with the Professor and Lisbon… but more _here_ in general. How had the Professor even known how to find me three and a half years ago? That’s how everything had started. Crazy how your life can change… one moment you’re walking home to your own mother selling you out to the cops and the next you have a gun pointed at the genitals of the guy who is not only gonna save you from all that but also make you a millionaire. One moment you plan a multi-million-dollar heist, the next you fall in love with the inspector investigating you. One moment you lie on a beach drinking from coconuts, the next you’re arrested and tortured in some hellhole.

And sure enough, my thoughts stray to Rio again. Rio… Now he’s in some corner of the earth being tortured for information – things he doesn’t even know. It should have been me. I should be in that godforsaken hole. If it hadn’t been for me he wouldn’t be in this situation.

 _We can’t change the past._ I suppose the Professor is right. But the oppressive guilt in my chest just won’t disappear. I make a silent promise to myself that I’ll change. For Rio. He deserves someone better. At the same time, I wonder if I can ever be that person. So far, all signs point to no. I can’t even be at peace with myself for, what, a couple of minutes?

“Keep your focus on your breath. If you get distracted by a thought or a sound, gently return your attention to your breath.”

Fine. Okay. Focus.

And I really try to.

But, really, what is the point? Shouldn’t we be planning Rio’s rescue or something?

“Continue this for a while.”

So that’s all I’m supposed to do now? How long has it been? Ten minutes? Twenty? More? It’s torture.

So instead, I direct my attention away from my body, listening to the sounds around me. The ocean sounds too repetitive, the birds chirping around me weirdly out of sync.

Finally, I can’t do it anymore. My eyes snap open.

Lisbon and the Professor themselves are sitting in front of me, eyes closed, their expressions relaxed and peaceful. Their shoulders are relaxed, legs are crossed, their hands resting in their laps. Seemingly picture-perfect meditation poses. Except Lisbon’s left and the Professor’s right hand extend outwards from that pose, linked in the space between them.

I can feel myself smiling at the sight.

My gaze drifts to the ocean, now calmly sending wave after wave to the shore, and everything seems normal again.

The Professor and Lisbon look kind of odd to me as they’re sitting there, motionless. I’ve never seen the Professor meditate before. For a split second, I wonder if this Lisbon’s influence. But then again, he seems to be into this much more than she is. And it seems like something the Professor would do, too, determined to be in control of himself. I suppose there is some merit to that. It just… doesn’t work for me.

It’s still a little hard to judge what kind of person Lisbon is. Everything I know about her is tied to her past. Well, almost everything. I’ve only spent a couple of days with her so far and I’ve only allowed myself to really get to know her for the last two at most. I’ve been so busy thinking of her as a police officer and suspecting her of infiltrating our lives to turn us in that the few times I actually got to see _her,_ it didn’t even really register.

And when she told me about her life yesterday, she practically evolved into something different in front of my eyes. The way I saw her had changed so drastically, so entirely. Though, I suppose, it wasn’t her past alone that had made me reconsider, made me see her in a different light.

Once again, I have to think about what Mariví told me the other day. _She’s changed a lot, you know?_ Now that I know about her past, it’s obvious why. All of her distantness, all of her rigidness when we first met suddenly makes sense.

She seems surer of herself now – it’s a gradual change at first glance, but the more time I spend with her, the more I realize how free she must feel here in Palawan, away from all the restraints of her old life. Away from all the oppression, too. Being a fugitive comes with its own limitations, of course, but being in Palawan seems to have brought her a sense of peace.

It’s so glaringly obvious to me now that she’s in love with the Professor. And not just because they are holding hands right in front of me this very second. It’s a good look on both of them. She looks radiant and full of life and nothing like the washed-out version I had met back in Spain. Any time she looks at him, there is a softness in her expression, and every fiber of her body seems to relax. It doesn’t really surprise me anymore after everything I’ve learned about her in the last couple of days. Here, with him, she seems to feel empowered. And he lets her be whoever she wants to be. Even if that means slapping me at the beach.

They are very much at ease with each other. Every time they look at each other it’s like the world around them becomes secondary. There is an understanding between them that seems to pass me by. The way she smiles at him with such fondness. And the Professor looks happy, truly happy, especially when he is with her. It’s like I can’t unsee it. Every time I look at them now, I wonder how I was so unsure about it in the beginning. But then again, I hadn’t wanted to see it.

Suddenly, I see Lisbon open her eyes, and I quickly close mine again. After a couple of seconds, I take a peek to see if it’s safe for me to open my eyes again, but her eyes are still open and if she hadn’t seen me look the first time around, she sure as hell has noticed it now.

She looks at me and grins, and I can’t help but grin back.

Then, she closes her eyes again, and after a little while, I decide to give this thing another try. This time, it works a little better, and I can feel myself relax a little, moment after moment.

“Keep your attention on your breath.”

I jump. The Professor’s voice comes out of nowhere and I narrowly avoid cursing another time. And with that, my focus is gone.

No, this meditation thing isn’t for me. I don’t really know what they get out of it.

I can still make out a hint of a smile on Lisbon’s lips. In a way, I can’t believe that it’s only been four days since I got here. It only took four days to convince me that Lisbon is no longer my enemy. And at the same time, I’m a little annoyed it took me this long to see it.

Secretly, I am almost a little glad that she is nothing like the person I made her out to be. Instead of my enemy, I’ve found a woman who has forged such a strong bond with the Professor, it’s a little unnerving. Someone who, even after she had found out that he had betrayed her, hadn’t turned against him. _I would be the one she should take revenge on. I screwed her over first._ Maybe she had wanted to take revenge at some point, maybe she had even gotten close, maybe it’s what he deserved, but she never did. Not in Madrid, not in Palawan. _She fell in love with me._ Yes, I can see it clearly now. _And she came back to me._

Some more time passes, and I seriously wonder how long this meditation thing takes. We’ve been sitting here for an eternity, and I think I can feel one of my legs falling asleep.

“And now slowly bring your attention back to the present. And, when you’re ready, open your eyes,” I finally hear the Professor say.

I bite back a smirk when he opens his eyes and looks at me expectantly.

“That was a nice twenty-minute session, wasn’t it?”

Twenty minutes?! Holy hell. I could have sworn we’ve been sitting here for closer to an hour.

“Yeah, no, I’m never doing that again.”

Lisbon looks at me, amused.

We get up, and Lisbon and the Professor pick up their towels and shake out the sand as best as they can while I pat down my legs, trying to beat the sand out of my pants.

Lisbon links her arm with the Professor’s and gently pulls him in the direction of the house, motioning me to follow along.

“Looks like it’s gonna rain today,” Lisbon says as we’re walking back to the house, frowning at the sky.

“The weather forecast said it should start raining around noon. That should make the heat a little more bearable,” the Professor confirms.

I nod, looking at the sandcastle again as we pass it. It’s a shame it won’t live past noon. I don’t know what makes me feel so attached to that thing. It’s just a sandcastle.

And yet… I feel a pang in my chest thinking about the joy in Paula’s eyes, the Professor covered in sand, the fondness he has for Paula, the eagerness with which she had erected all those towers and built those walls… it’ll all be gone in a couple of hours.

* * *

At some point in the afternoon, I can feel my stomach rumbling with hunger and it occurs to me that I haven’t eaten anything since I got up today. I get up from the sofa and approach the kitchen, but I stop when I hear voices. Lisbon and the Professor. The door to the kitchen is open and I can see them clearly from where I am standing. The Professor and Lisbon are facing each other, their sides turned to the kitchen door. They don’t seem to have noticed me standing in the hallway yet.

“I think Tokyo likes you now,” I hear the Professor say.

And with that, my interest is piqued, and I move a bit further back and out of their sight. Truth is, I have no reason to spy on them anymore, but I somehow can’t help but listen.

“Yeah,” she replies, a smile in her voice, “I suppose she does.”

“No, I _know_ she does. You should have heard her last night. She made some very valid points.”

“And that surprises you?” she asks, mock offense in her voice.

“Well… no, I suppose I didn’t act very rationally,” he grumbles.

“No… no you didn’t,” she says, then relents and adds, “but I understand why you did it. _She_ on the other hand…”

“I don’t quite know why she did it either.”

“No, I _know_ what motivated her. I just don’t understand what made her actually go to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s one thing to empathize with someone, but it’s an entirely different thing to stand up for someone.”

“That’s true.”

“I think it’s like you said, she just needed time. And it turns out that her stubbornness and impulsivity were good for _something_.”

“Hang on, do you actually like Tokyo now?”

She flashes him a grin.

“She isn’t half bad. Her heart is in the right place. And as far as I’m concerned, she can barge into our bedroom to tell you that you’re wrong any time.”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

“We can always lock the door,” she challenges, and her voice drops.

“Yes, I suppose we could do that,” he replies, stepping closer to her.

I grin and shake my head. It strikes me how different this conversation is from the one I overheard the first day I was here.

When I glance into the kitchen again, they’re standing mere centimeters apart, their eyes locked, smiles on their faces. She puts a hand on the side of his face, running her fingertips through his beard, and moves her head closer until her lips touch his and they’re kissing each other slowly, softly. He embraces her as they kiss, his hands in her hair. Then, his hands gradually trail downwards, his right hand on her upper back, his left around her waist, pulling her closer. She sinks into his embrace, a smile visible on her face as she continues kissing him.

I have to admit they’re _a little bit_ cute.

Her hands linger on his cheek before they move towards his neck and upper back, pulling him closer in turn, kissing him again and again.

I shake my head again, biting back a smile. Maybe I should just leave the two alone… but then my stomach makes itself noticeable again, and I suppose if I want any food in the near future, I have to interrupt whatever is gonna happen in that kitchen otherwise. And so I move towards the door. I noisily clear my throat and knock on the door, and Lisbon and the Professor reluctantly break apart, staying close.

“I suppose we should start _now_ ,” he says quietly, a little flustered, and she breaks into a smile.

“Yes, we have to work on that,” she says quietly, a little breathless.

She smiles up at him, holding back a laugh, and, letting her hand rest on his chest, she half-turns to me, smiling broadly. “Did you need anything?”

“I just wanted to grab something to eat.”

“Yeah, we should probably order something. It’s already kind of late,” Lisbon says and she seems to ponder for a moment before she lightly taps the Professor’s chest, “ _Cariño_ , can you get Paula, Mahalia, and my mother and set the table? Tokyo and I will pick something to order, and then we’ll help you.”

He nods, hugging her once more and kissing her hair before he lets go of her.

I watch him go and look at Lisbon again. A moment of silence follows and she gives me a look. I can’t quite shake the feeling she sent the Professor out of the room on purpose.

“So I take it you want to talk to me?”

She reaches into one of the kitchen drawers and pulls out a menu, placing it on the kitchen counter in front of her.

“Well, you do have to pick something to eat from the menu… and I’ll just order the same as usual for the rest of us.”

“Yeah…” I say, eyeing her.

“But while we’re at it,” she says, shaking her head smiling, “I know we didn’t start out the best way…”

I frown and cock my head.

“Is this an apology?” I ask, raising my eyebrows, a smirk on my lips.

She chuckles, then shakes her head.

“Not exactly. But whether you like it or not, I am not going anywhere, and the only way we can do this is if we work together.”

“Lisbon,” I say emphatically, and I give her an amused smile, “we’re good. Really.”

She nods and smiles back at me and there is something in her eyes when she looks at me now, something I can’t quite place…

“So… shall we order?” I inquire, holding up the menu.

* * *

Eating lunch with the rest of the family is a welcome change to the quietness of the rest of the day. The home feels more alive now that Paula, Mariví, and Mahalia are back in the house, and the air is filled with Paula’s vivid descriptions of their day at the market. She swings the toy she got around, a vibrant ribbon attached to a wand, painting circles around herself. The Professor and Lisbon look at her, soft smiles on their faces. But then that look creeps into their smiles again, and I see them reaching for each other’s hand.

“It’s time,” he says, squeezing her hand, and she nods.

The Professor gets up to clear the table while Lisbon walks over to Paula, and when the Professor returns from the kitchen, the three of them vanish into the living room.

For a while, I stay at the dining room table and talk to Mariví and Mahalia, but I can barely focus on what they’re saying. All I can think about is Paula and how much is going to change for her… how much she is going to miss out on… including those damned turtles. Everything is gonna change for her in just a few days.

A part of me wants to go over and listen to what they’re saying, but the other part wants to stay as far away from this as possible, wants to pretend this isn’t happening, that I’m on the island with Rio again. Literally anywhere else.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore, and I notice myself gravitating towards the living room and when I walk into the hallway, I can hear Lisbon’s words echoing out to me. I can’t really understand what she’s saying, but her voice is calm, and so is the Professor’s when he speaks. Every now and then, I can hear Paula’s little voice ask questions, calm and steady.

I don’t really know what I expected. Crying maybe. Yelling. Incomprehension at the very least. Perhaps that’s how a conversation like that with my mother might have gone.

But instead, it’s quiet.

I think I would have preferred crying and yelling.

* * *

A while later, I wander out to the patio. The rain hasn’t come yet, but I can see the clouds looming in the distance. Looks like the downpour is going to start soon. I sit down on the steps, facing the ocean.

I let out a sigh. So this is it. They’ve told Paula.

It’s happening. And Lisbon is coming with us.

A part of me is glad that she’s coming with us now because if she joins us then I guess that means that it’s a good plan. Lisbon is a smart woman. She has her daughter and her mother to think of. If she joins then that must mean that the plan is solid, right?

For all our differences, Lisbon and I are quite alike in some ways. Paula had said Lisbon had called me fearless, which I suppose is more a testament to my short fuse than anything else. This morning, she had also essentially told me that. I run towards confrontation.

But she is a force to be reckoned with as well, and yet her fearlessness expresses itself so differently. She thinks things through, she is aware of the risks, but she still does it.

When she had set foot into the Mint, she had been watchful and observant but had never seemed scared. Surrounded by a bunch of criminals, the threat of violence hadn’t scared her, the sight of our Kalashnikovs pointed at her had barely made an impression. She had tried smuggling a microphone into the Mint, doubling as a ploy to turn Rio against us, and yet she hadn’t seemed the least bit nervous about that.

I find myself laughing at the memory.

That’s how Lisbon and I had met. Centimeters apart with my hand in her pants. Yet even when my hand had slipped into her pants, she had barely seemed fazed.

But, I think, the first time I had actually realized she wasn’t scared was when she had revealed Berlin’s illness to Rio and me. She had known the power of her words, the impact her information would have. Her action had been deliberate, she had played her cards exactly right… She hadn’t felt intimidated by Berlin, not in the least. His chilling calmness, his remarks had slipped right off of her. She hadn’t let him get to her. Instead, she had lain in waiting, ready to take him down in one swift move.

My attempts at getting Berlin to do what I wanted seem amateurish at best in comparison, almost literally just shooting blanks at him. I had taunted a dying man with his own mortality. Before, he had laughed at me as I had broken vial after vial of his medication on the ground. I’m sure Berlin had thought my tactics inelegant… and ultimately ineffective. He had seemed amused when I had spun a single bullet in the chamber and had snapped it into the revolver. With the increasing probability of getting shot in the head, he had seemed humbled by the experience for about one second – there had been just a sliver of fear in his eyes. And yet that had been about the only victory I had gotten out of that experience. After that, he had sent me out to the tent. Perhaps I should have asked Lisbon to tutor me while I was there.

I think Lisbon is right, though, my problem is that I can’t stand tension for very long, and so the only way to escape is confrontation. I see a threat, and I attack. My instincts give way to my impulsivity, and I just act, possibly catapulting myself into the next dead-end situation. I am not good with stagnation, with stillness. Isn’t that how I ended up here too?

I run my hands through my hair and rub my face. I really don’t want to think about that anymore. I mean, what’s the use?

I sigh.

Where Lisbon and I share a certain fearlessness, she is the more level-headed one out of the both of us. By far. And this is what makes me hopeful. As hopeful as you can be when you’re planning something that is apparently going to eclipse the first heist…

Looking back at the last couple of days, I think this might have gone very differently if Lisbon hadn’t taken the first step… well, the first couple of steps towards me. I roll my eyes at myself. I can be quite stubborn.

I suppose it wasn’t exactly an accident I stood up for her yesterday. I actually think she’d make an incredibly valuable team member. Judging by how the last heist went, we’re in dire need of someone like her.

In the distance, the sky has turned to a dark grey, and the wind has picked up, blowing the clouds closer and closer in our direction. I should probably go back inside soon, but I somehow can’t get myself to move.

It’s strange… running from the cops in Panama, Rio’s arrest, calling my transporter, the journey here, the last couple of days… everything feels kind of distorted in my head. I know it happened, but it all felt unreal, like a nightmare I just have to wake up from. But today feels really real.

The first drops are falling now, and soon, there’s not a dry spot left. Sheltered under the roof of the patio, I sit there, watching the rain fall. It’s quite a heavy rain, too, and it feels oddly cathartic to sit here and observe the elements at play. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

I suddenly hear Lisbon’s voice behind me, “Hey, Tokyo.”

I open my eyes and turn around to look at her.

“We’re going to play a game and we need one more person to play in teams, do you want to join?”

“Sure, okay,” I say and get up.

As we go inside, I glance at her.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She nods curtly, and before I can say anything else, we’ve entered the living room, and Paula exclaims: “I pick Sergio!”

Something about this doesn’t seem right. The Professor and Paula are just sitting there as if nothing had happened. It’s a little unsettling how they all seem to be doing just fine after a conversation like that. Or am I wrong? Haven’t they told Paula the truth?

I see Lisbon grin, then she turns to me with a smirk.

“I guess that leaves the two of us.”

“Great,” I say with just a hint of sarcasm, and grin back at her.

“What are we playing?” I ask, looking around at the three of them, still a little unsure of what happened between them earlier. Does Paula know what’s going to happen in a couple of days?

“We have a couple of words on cards that you have to draw, and your partner is trying to guess what you’re drawing,” Lisbon answers.

“Oh, so like Pictionary,” I say.

“Yeah, like that.”

I feel like I could have done worse that being on a team with Lisbon. I don’t suppose the Professor is all that good at drawing. And after all, I just spent quite some time thinking about the benefits of having Lisbon on our team.

She places the cards on the table.

“Alright,” Lisbon announces, “let’s start.”

“Wait! We need team names!” Paula says.

“Okay, what’s your team name?” Lisbon asks.

Paula looks at the Professor and then moves closer to whisper something in his ear. The Professor grins and nods.

“The Winners,” Paula and the Professor say together.

Next to me, Lisbon starts laughing, and I grin.

“Smart,” I say.

“We’ll see about that,” Lisbon replies.

“You two also need a team name,” Paula demands.

“Any ideas?” Lisbon asks me.

“Well, we’re not gonna be The Losers, that’s for sure,” I say challengingly, looking at Paula, and she giggles. “What about Cop and Robber?”

Lisbon smirks and raises her eyebrows at me as if to say ‘Really?’ and I answer with a shrug.

“Seems like we’re all set then,” the Professor says. Then, he turns to Paula and says in a low tone: “They don’t stand a chance against us, you know why? Because we’re the best team.”

Paula beams up at him, and I can practically feel her excitement all the way over where I’m sitting.

The game starts, and Paula and the Professor are the ones to go first.

The Professor walks up to the flipchart they have put up and starts drawing. Or he tries to, anyway. Paula is surprisingly good at trying to guess what he’s drawing, though. The Professor appears to be taking all of this very seriously at first, then, his drawings become a little sloppier. Paula sits on the edge of her chair, visibly excited. Every now and then, she seems to want to leap off of it as she guesses word after word. Now, the Professor’s trying to draw what looks like a sad, misshapen sausage, and I’m trying my hardest not to laugh at it.

“Banana!” Paula exclaims after the Professor has added the stem and some more lines, and not a second later, the buzzer sounds.

“Yes, brilliant,” he says cheerfully, though he seems somewhat relieved that the first round is over.

“Seven points,” Lisbon announces.

Paula runs up to him and hugs him and they both smile in triumph. Then the Professor walks over to Lisbon and hands her the pen with a smug grin. “Your turn. Try to beat that.”

Lisbon chortles, takes the pen from him, and gets up.

The Professor sets the timer and Lisbon starts drawing and I remember that this means that I’m supposed to guess now.

Okay, so… it’s a curve… it’s a… a hook... it’s a… what is it?

Next to me, I hear Paula giggling. When I turn my head to look at Paula and the Professor, both are clearly entertained by what Lisbon is trying to conjure up. The Professor bends his head to whisper something in Paula’s ear and she starts laughing even more.

“Hey,” Lisbon snaps her fingers in my direction, “focus!”

I snap my head back to the board, but I am still not quite sure what I’m looking at. It looks like a mess of lines and spikes with an eye that’s looking at me. Some sort of animal?

She adds an arrow pointing at the thing.

“A hedgehog?”

Lisbon takes the pen and vigorously circles a part of the drawing. Then she turns around and looks at me expectantly.

I frown and tilt my head.

“Spikes?” I ask.

“Yes! Oh my God, finally!”

Lisbon takes the next card and sighs.

“Let’s hope this one goes better…”

Okay, uhm, a circle… a circle with dots…

“Cookie!”

Lisbon shakes her head and adds even tinier dots all over the circle.

“Cheese?”

Lisbon adds a line at the bottom and what looks like trees at the sides of the page.

“ _Floating_ cheese?”

I hear Paula laughing and even the Professor chuckles at my guess. Lisbon turns around to me, her eyebrows raised, and a disbelieving look on her face. With her gaze drilling into mine, she adds stars across the page.

“The moon!”

She nods, but with her left hand, she signals that there’s more I’m supposed to guess.

“A full moon?”

“Yes!”

She smiles, relieved, and picks up another card.

This time she’s barely brought the pen to the paper and I already know what she’s drawing.

“Money. Cash. Coins!”

“Well, of course you’d get that one,” she grins, and I smirk back at her.

“Three points and twenty seconds left,” the Professor announces. “No pressure.”

Lisbon narrows her eyes at him and takes another card from the stack.

By the end of those twenty seconds, The Winners are two points ahead of us.

Paula is up next and she starts drawing, standing up on her tiptoes to draw the crown of a tree. The Professor starts guessing, and soon, we’re more than just two points behind. But judging by the look of determination on Lisbon’s face, not all is lost yet.

We go on playing round after round. There is a lot of laughter, a lot of poorly drawn images, a lot of circles and arrows highlighting specific parts of the drawings, and a lot of excitement – and at some point, Lisbon and I even take the lead, but our success is short-lived. Paula and the Professor make an excellent team.

Every now and then, my gaze wanders to them. In part, because they’re kind of adorable together, but also because it’s still so bizarre to me to see the Professor like that, so loving and attentive. It’s funny now that I think about it… I’ve never seen him content like this: in the house in Toledo, his mind was on the heist day and night, everything revolved around that one thing… besides his origami figures, I’m actually not sure what he did for fun. _Did_ he ever have fun? I’m leaning towards no. I’ve only ever seen him in control, composed, calm, and somewhat detached. With Paula, he somehow seems comfortable and carefree, almost unrecognizable – whether it’s crouching in the sand, building sandcastles, or Paula and him conspiring against Lisbon and me…

It’s so fun to watch these two, the Professor standing in front of the board, drawing treasure chests and puddles and pine cones, stick figures and hearts and Paula excitedly bobbing up and down on the sofa, or Paula drawing horses and ants, cities, trains, and even more stick figures while the Professor sits there with a thoughtful expression on his face, focused, but with a smile on his lips.

When it’s my turn once again, we’re nine points behind. I pick up a card and start drawing.

Lisbon takes a few tries to get the first couple of drawings right, but when I get to the fourth drawing, her guesses couldn’t be more wrong.

“Angry faces.”

I draw two circles below them, and before I can connect them with a line, Lisbon says:

“Marriage. Bad marriage.”

Once I add the line, she says: “Glasses!”

I sigh inwardly and add a hand to one of the circles.

“Bracelet. Unwanted present.”

I add another hand through the other circle and draw a little key. I wait, but nothing from her.

I turn around. “Really?! What kind of inspector are you?”

“Hey, no talking allowed,” Paula says.

“Handcuffs!”

I nod eagerly and point at the two people I’ve drawn and signal her to think a little further.

“Prison.”

I shake my head no.

Lisbon takes a few more guesses, all of them wrong.

“I don’t know, a prisoner?”

She’s so close, it’s painful. I am _this_ close to just telling her what it is. Really, how hard can it be? It’s _so_ obvious. I indicate for her to go on, and eventually…

“Criminal!”

The alarm sounds and I let myself fall onto the sofa, exasperated.

“I can’t believe it took you so long to get that!”

“Well, it would have helped if you had drawn it better. What’s all of this even supposed to mean? Sergio could have drawn better handcuffs.”

“ _Clearly_ it’s a police officer and a criminal.”

“How was I supposed to get that?”

“The police uniform?”

“You mean the button-down shirt one of them is wearing?”

“They’re also wearing a police cap!”

“That looks like a beret!”

“I suppose I should be glad you didn’t guess ‘angry Frenchman’ then.”

The Professor clears his throat loudly, visibly biting back a grin. Lisbon and I look over at him and Paula who are watching us from the other end of the sofa, Paula having doubled over with laughter, her face pressed into the cushions. Lisbon and I look at each other, at the drawing, and then back at Paula and the Professor and we erupt in laughter as well.

After we have recovered a bit, Paula gets up.

“21 to 26, here we go,” the Professor says. “You got this, Paula!”

And with that, Paula starts drawing. Every now and then, she stops and giggles, and I’m not quite sure if she’s still laughing about her mom and me or about whatever she’s drawing.

“Water… ocean…”

Paula adds a little hill on top of the wiggly lines she’s drawn.

“Island!”

“Yes,” Paula exclaims, smiling broadly, then walks over to the table.

When Paula picks up the next card, her expression turns serious and she stands there, looking at it for a moment. I frown and look at Lisbon and the Professor.

But then Paula turns back around and moves closer to the flipboard.

When she starts drawing, her lines are a bit shaky, and she seems to hesitate every so often, until she stops completely, and she just stands there.

“Paula, are you okay?” the Professor asks.

Paula turns around, her face streaked with tears. At once, Lisbon and the Professor are by Paula’s side.

“Paula, cariño, what’s wrong?” Lisbon whispers.

She wordlessly turns to Lisbon and just clings to her.

“I don’t want you to go.”

Lisbon brings her own arms around her, scoops her up, and carries her out of the room.

And there it is, the crying and incomprehension I had expected earlier. Paula is just a kid after all…

The Professor and I look on as Lisbon and Paula vanish into her room, and I think this is the most beaten down I’ve ever seen the Professor.

He runs a hand over his face, walks over to the table, and picks up the card that Paula had drawn.

“It says ‘family,’” he breathes and sits down on the sofa.

I take a deep breath and bite my lip, unsure what to do.

“She took it quite well when we told her we were going to leave earlier,” he says, and he hesitates before he goes on, sending a worried look towards Paula’s room, “but now I realize that maybe she didn’t. We tried to prepare her for a situation like this one. We tried to ease her into the situation, told her that we might have to go away for a while to take care of something when we first heard that you had contacted your transporter… but I suppose there is only so much talking you can do… the reality might look quite different. She’s only ten, after all.”

“What did you tell her? Does she know… does she know why you live here?” I ask.

The Professor grimaces. “Yes. Well, we had to tell her something when we moved here. It wasn’t fair to her to uproot her and bring her to a foreign country without a bit of an explanation. We didn’t exactly tell her everything… but… she knows.”

There’s a heaviness in his voice, and he shakes his head. “None of this is fair to her.”

“What does she know?”

He sighs. “Paula isn’t stupid. Kids in her school in Spain were already talking about Raquel and how she helped ‘those criminals’ escape.”

“Kids can be little bastards,” I mumble.

“I met Paula one time when I went over to Raquel’s house. I’m not entirely sure she recognized me when she and Raquel got here, and I don’t know if she really knew who I was… that I was the criminal her mother helped escape… but she caught on after a little while.”

I nod. “She knows who you are then?”

“In essence, yes. She knows I’m the Professor.”

“And did you tell her? You know… about the heist?”

“Yes… we told her in small doses. There was no point in denying what she already knew, so we led with that. We also had to establish some ground rules… to keep us safe, and we had to explain why those rules were important and why we needed to have them. They were hard on Paula, especially in the first couple of weeks… Obviously, she couldn’t call her father anymore, or her friends. She couldn’t tell anyone her real name… things like that.”

“Yeah, I can imagine that that must have been hard for her. For you too.”

I can sense that he dreads this situation as much as I do if not more. I’m not sure what to say or do next. “I’m sorry…” I start, but the words don’t come, they feel insignificant.

A couple more moments pass in silence.

“Paula really seems to like you,” I say, trying a different route.

He manages a sad half-smile. “Thank you for saying that.”

“She told me so herself. She said she likes it here because you’re here, and because you make her mom happy.”

He nods but doesn’t really react to what I’m saying, seemingly lost in thought.

“And she said you taught her origami.”

That makes him chuckle, but almost immediately, his expression turns serious again.

“I should check on them,” he says.

We get up and walk closer to Paula’s room.

The crying has stopped, and I can hear Lisbon talking to Paula in a soothing voice. I can see Raquel cradling Paula in her arms, rocking her back and forth. We stand there for a while, and I can barely bring myself to look inside.

I silently curse myself and what I had thought earlier. Thinking I’d prefer this. _This_ is torture. What kind of monster would wish for this? Listening to Paula crying without being able to do anything about it. No, worse. Knowing that, ultimately, if it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t be crying.

When Lisbon steps back outside, I can see that she’s been crying. Without a word, the Professor takes her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her head, and she clings to him for a moment before they eventually let go of each other.

“She wants to talk to you,” she says to him, wiping her tears off her cheeks.

“To me?” he repeats.

She nods. He, too, starts nodding in understanding and moves past her and into Paula’s room.

I watch as he settles next to Paula on the bed.

“You wanted to talk to me?”

Paula nods and looks down at her hands for a moment.

“How long are you gonna be gone?” Paula finally asks.

“Well, that’s a difficult question to answer,” he says evasively, but then he looks at Paula and he seems to have come to a decision. “It’s going to be a while. A couple of months.”

“Is it going to be dangerous?”

“What makes you think that?”

She cocks her head ever so slightly and he relents.

“Yes.”

“How dangerous?”

“Well,” he shifts uncomfortably, “that’s hard to say.”

“Will you keep my mom safe?”

My eyes dart to Lisbon, and I can see her eyes are swimming in tears.

“Yes,” he says vehemently.

“Do you promise?” Paula asks again.

“Yes,” he repeats, “I am going to do whatever it takes to get your mom back to you, you hear me?”

Lisbon brings a hand to her eyes and tries to wipe her tears away, but it’s useless. The tears just keep on running down her cheeks.

“What about you?” Paula says quietly.

“Your mom will keep me safe.”

“Will you come back for me?”

“Of course we will,” the Professor answers, not a shred of uncertainty in his voice. “You can never doubt for a second that we will come back for you. Your mom and I love you very much and we will do whatever it takes to get back to you.”

Paula nods.

“But why do you have to do this? Why can’t you just stay here with me?” Paula asks, her voice small, uncomprehending. “Don’t you care about me?”

Fuck. I run a hand over my mouth. This is devastating. I hate every bit of this.

“Paula, I know none of this is fair to you. I so wish there was another way to do this. I wish I could just make this go away. And hopefully, after this, it’s going to be.”

Lisbon and I share a look, leaning on opposite sides of the doorframe. Her eyes are puffy from crying. She seems tired and somehow weakened. The tears are still rolling down her cheeks… it seems to have become impossible to stop them now.

As I keep looking at her, I’m overcome with a deep sense of dejectedness. There is nothing I can do about any of this. It’s a discomfort that sits uncomfortably in my chest. And I can’t just run away. There is nothing I can use to fend off the sadness, the tragedy of it all. I just have to sit with it.

“Do you… do you want a hug?” I ask, and for a moment I am convinced Lisbon is about to shake her head when she nods and moves towards me, and I open my arms to her.

* * *

I find it hard to fall asleep that night. Minutes and hours pass, but the tiredness won’t come. The uncomfortable feeling in my chest hasn’t lessened. If anything, it’s gotten worse. It feels like an ever-present dejectedness interspearsed with deep sadness, and yet something that makes lying still or crying unbearable and impossible. I wish I could run away from all this. I wish I could just wake up from this as though it was a bad dream. But no matter how much I try, I can’t escape. I get up and walk around the room several times that night. It’s a pointless, aimless wandering. The room seems to get smaller every time, and walking around doesn’t solve anything either. And so I just crawl back into bed, only to get up again a while later. It’s a horrible, horrible feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! :)
> 
> I originally wanted to name this story "How to Accept Your Former Enemy as Your Ally in Six Days or Less" but while I really liked that title, it, unfortunately, didn't fit the vibe of this story. :D Brainstorming with some fandom friends resulted in some other very funny title suggestions - shoutout to the fabulously punny title suggestions I got from Nala147 "When Tokyo Met Lisbon" and "How to Train Your Tokyo." I wanted to include them here because they're hilarious and way too good to go to waste. :D


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